#should i tag this as violence? haha

[mysweetsinfulobsessions]

From this

to this...

and this in the course of 20 minutes

Harlivy kicking the crap out of their daughter and being very uncool moms in Harley Quinn, the animated series, S04e07, Most Culturally Impactful Film Franchise

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 4

Content Warnings: Mild gore (descriptions of blood), Needles (into a port, not hypodermic), IV port, Lab whump. All under the cut out of caution!

Sensory Deprivation

The sedative wore off at the same time it always did and they groaned, wishing just for once to curl up and go back to sleep. They had five minutes, or ten if they were lucky… but being found still asleep was never worth it. Old and new wounds complained against the arduous process of standing up and feeling for the door.

Sure enough, the fluorescent lights buzzed to life overhead just as they exited the attached bathroom. 

“Good morning, dear.” Their captor greeted, gesturing to the chair. Of course, always straight to business with him. But they wavered.

The chair wouldn’t have stood out to an outsider as anything other than a black leather armchair. Sure, it was the only dark item in the starkly clinical room, but that only made it all the more inviting if you didn’t know its use.

“You should take a day off. You’re practically married to your work,” they tried.

“You’re my work, and I don’t think either of us want that,” he shot back, removing four vials from his shoulder bag and setting each neatly on the tray. 

The chair. The tray. They were all laughably foreboding. Laughter never eased the fear.

“That’s new.” They knew the first three. Nutrition supplement, immune support, and hydration supplement. Administered every day like clockwork. Days with any more were days to be feared, but they’d started to recognize which drug was which. This was definitely new.

“Yes. Take your seat.” 

Always the same goddamn phrase to warn them they were going too far. 

“Ring a bell and I’ll probably start slobbering,” they muttered, perching on the edge of the chair. He hummed, unwrapping a needle and drawing out the nutrition supplement.

“Thank Pavlov for lessening that network of scars on your body.” His smile was pleasant as always. In another life where he wasn’t so sick and twisted he was probably a medical provider. 

He moved the neck of their shirt aside to access their IV port and inject the liquid, doing the same practiced motions two more times before their hand shot up to cover the port. Disappointed eyes fell upon them.

“Never without some kind of struggle, are you?” 

“I just want to know what it is before you do it.”

“You’ll like it. Now move.”

He pried their fingers apart wide enough to push the needle in and depress the plunger. Then he stood back and grabbed his clipboard, probably noting some bullshit about volumes and concentrations, and clicked a stopwatch.

“Tell me when your back stops hurting,” he instructed, and their eyes widened.

“You gave me painkillers? Seriously?” Somehow, they were more nervous than before.

“Something like that.”

When he wanted serious data he didn’t speak much. So silence filled the room until their pain actually reacted as he said. Not only did the sharp pain on their back fade, but so did the aches of months past.

“Holy shit. What did you give me?” They felt like a brand new person. It was… terrifying.

“Your new favorite thing,” he said, and they couldn’t exactly deny it. He finished writing and made his way back over. “Alright. Now for the real test.”

They couldn’t help the way their body clenched up when he stood over them. Or the way they trembled when he opened the zipper pocket and pulled out his knife. 

“I thought this was a scientific procedure. Where’s your scalpel?” A risky quip. They didn’t want to see that goddamn scalpel ever again.

“Scientific, not surgical. Calm down or I’ll need to start you on high blood pressure medication too.”

He tapped the arm of the chair and they obediently set their arm there, wary of his every movement as he flipped the underside up.

“If you struggle, I’ll strap you to the table instead.”

That was checkmate and he knew it. A timid nod accepted defeat.

The knife started just below their elbow, pressed in, and pulled ever so slowly down to their wrist. Eyes squeezed shut and teeth grit, preparing for the familiar sting, but…

They looked down. The cut was already bleeding, dripping down their arm, wetting slick leather. But all they’d felt was a mild pressure.

Their captor was looking on just as intensely, studying their reaction.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” they breathed. No pain. “Nothing whatsoever.”

He drew another line, parallel, and even as more blood wept, their eyes were strangely dry.

“Good. Let’s kick this up a notch.”

They opened their mouth to protest but a hand already fisted in their collar, pulling them up and pushing them against the wall. Their vision blurred when their head knocked off the wall, but the explosion of hurt didn’t precede it. 

“H-how do you know you didn’t just concuss me?” The longer this went on, the worse it felt. 

“I suppose I don’t. Not until I check you.”

“You can’t do that! You need to know how hurt I am, you need to know when to stop-!” A backhand flew across their face, snapping it to the side, and they whimpered. The hit had hardly felt like a brief touch, but its humiliation stung nonetheless.

“I know your limits. Do you think you’d feel a stab wound?” His question made them freeze, tears preemptively flooding their eyes.

“No- please don’t. Please. I’ll lose too much blood, you could hit something vital, please!” 

"Do you think my anatomical studies were for nothing?"

Pressure. Pressing harder and harder against their shirt, their abdomen, and then a horrific, slick coolness. It fell back and exposed a rushing warmth, blood staining white fabric, broken skin peeking through the new hole. God. They felt faint.

They fell to their knees and heard footsteps, probably wanting to test whether or not they were faking it.

“It doesn’t hurt,” they cried. “I just- the blood- I need to stem the bleeding.” That was true. Their hands clamped over the stab wound, trying to stop it. The shoes paused next to them in thought, then continued back toward the chair. Just moments later they heard his bag rustling and each vial clinking as it was set inside.

At least he was done for the day. Probably sad he didn’t get to make them scream.

He picked up the bag and his steps resumed, kicking something that skittered to a stop at their feet.

“Page me once it starts to wear off.”

Fuck.

[trans-leek-cookie]

I just saw your tags on the unreliable narrator post and I really want to know what character you’re talking about now

Geto Suguru from JJK. I came for the hot Asian guy with long hair and a cool outfit stayed bc I'm interested in how cults and eugenics hurt ppl irl and also how they're explored in fiction. But between heaven and earth I alone am trying to find a fic that actually treats him being a cult leader as the problem it is and also gets fucking Nanako and Mimiko out of their. Uhhh fuck idk if u know JJK so spoilery ranting under the read more that assumes familiarity (so not like. Explaining specific plot shit bc my brain will explode)

so basically ppl have called out the eugenics shit with like "kill everyone who isn't a sorcerer" and generally they're like yeah that sucks but whatever not important lol. And I've seen like 0 shit actually about how he's a cult leader + how cults are Abusive. And some ppl are like "actually he has a point bc blah blah blah" like okay. If sorcerers were a stand in/comparable to real life marginalized groups. WE DONT NEED MORE "MARGINALIZED EUGENICIST" PLOTS. But even within the story they don't seem marginalized? Like, there are Marginalized Sorcerers, but being a Sorcerer isn't something that's consistently oppressed? The closest thing is either misdirected ableism/sanism ("they see things that aren't there and are assumed to be psychotic" which is its own can of worms) or like accusations of witchcraft which... I guess that's sorcerery based on this universe but irl those were usually used either along with or as cover for other shit (racism, misogyny, land grabs, etc). So hes not necessarily marginalized on that level- tho growing up in a family without other sorcerers mightve caused problems for him that's a LOT different from systemic oppression. And, also? In a lot of cases it seems like sorcerers are relatively privileged with a lot of economic, social and maybe political power? Like the big three families are obv examples bc they're fucking Rich and control the sorcery world so. Y'know. Also it's stated at one point sorcerers receive some like exceptions to the law but aren't allowed to hurt ppl who aren't sorcerers so. Yeag

anyways going more in depth on eugenics- okay real quick terms: negative and positive eugenics. That's not in reference to the quality, "positive" doesn't mean "good" But Rather in reference to wether the action is meant to Reduce "bad genes" or Increase "good genes". And obv negative eugenics includes shit like forced sterilization and murder which I don't want to downplay, but positive eugenics is also coercive and fucked up. For example, forcing ppl to have children they don't want. Which isn't Discussed in the series, but the fact is sorcerers a SMALL minority of the population, and they're already having trouble with curses, so. Theoretically sorcerers would be coerced to have more children to bring the population numbers up. Personally I think that's Not Something Suguru Believes In (I'll get into that but main thing is his eugenics isn't an actual strategy but rather lashing out and ego) but like. There's abuse on both sides of the equation no matter what. Eugenics isn't fucking redeemable.

Now onto the cult shit. It's not super expanded on besides needing money and curses to like. Kill ppl or whatever. But my interpretation of Suguru is that he started a cult, and believes in eugenics, because his ego was damaged. Like the trauma impacted him and influenced his actions ofc bc trauma Does That but also I straight up think his ego was bruised and he wants revenge.

Like first of all, the wider context- he's a kid who is alienated from his parents and probably most of the ppl he interacted with due to his abilities, which is understandably damaging esp at a young age.

He is then scouted and labeled as a special grade- he is one of three in Japan and I believe the world, if I'm not misremembering. He is on par with Gojo Satoru (category wise) who. Literally "Gojo Satoru's birth changed the world" like that's a NUTS ego boost to get

Anyway Gojo called the two of them "the strongest" literally pairing them up and positioning them as equals so like. Whoo boy. Also special grade sorcerer is defined as "a sorcerer who could single-handedly take down a nation" which okay! Labeling children as essentially weapons of mass destruction. Normal behavior

Then Toji happens and this random fucking guy beats you up. He kills your best friend and the girl you were escorting. But he doesn't kill you- because of your cursed technique being risky to deal with, but also. Obvious subtext of "you aren't important enough to kill"

Then your friend comes back from the fucking dead. Kills the man who tried to kill him. Discovers entirely me abilities and becomes even more powerful. And you are stagnating, with a technique you fucking hate. Your entire power is the power of Other Things.

So like. Understandly, thought maybe not justifiably, your ego is fucked.

So you start creating a new dichotomy: sorcerers and everyone else. If everyone else is lesser, you still have worth because you're Better than them by virtue of existing.

And then you discover 2 children being abused for the thing you have a victim complex over (<- this is also it's own thing I'll talk about) and you murder a bunch of ppl about it (okay this is a little questionable of My Opinions maybe but I could. Not forgive but understand the mass murder bc there's a lot of shit building up and clearly if 2 young girls being badly abused in a small village that implies the majority of people were either okay with it or unwilling to try and help at all. Anyway it's still Bad but like. Understandble mental breakdown trauma kinda bad for me? Also bc most ppl irl recognize murder as being Bad but are Weirdly Forgiving of bigotry yknow)

Anyway you take over the cult that was doing some other shit and my personal interpretation of this is also an ego thing. Bc lots of cult leaders do it for the money, but a lot of them also do it bc they like the feeling of controlling ppl. And there's essentially 2 levels of the cult- everyday people and the people he considers Family (which includes Mimiko and Nanako, the 2 children from the paragraph above).

On the "everyday people" level, there's a feeling of being a revered religious leader, knowing something they don't (curses exist), and the satisfaction of taking advantage of the people you don't like.

On the Family level, you position yourself as a savior and as The Only One Brave Enough To Do What Must Be Done (eugenics genocide) so even if you aren't the strongest you're still Special.

So that's my main analysis of why he became a cult leader, and now I'm gonna make more comments about why I think his shit is "Ego" rather than a (fucked up) desire to actually help ppl

If you wanted to help sorcerers survive: THE CLANS ARE A MASSIVE FUCKING PROBLEM. They hoard techniques tools and knowledge and the Zen'in clan literally cast out Toji who could've been a fuckin BEAST at dealing with curses. The clans reliance of tradition also generally hinders sorcerers ability to grow and improve in ways that aren't Traditional

When he dies the cult falls apart (which: good) but also the members have different ideals like some of them wanna keep doing eugenics, some of them just wanted Suguru to be powerful, and two of them were basically his adopted kids. If you actually had good intentions: CREATE A PLAN FOR WHEN YOU DIE SO YOUR FOLLOWERS CAN ACTUALLY CARRY OUT YOUR WILL AND HELP PEOPLE INSTEAD OF LETTING THEM INFIGHT

And idk if this is totally Ego or starting to move into a separate thing so I just decided to split it up: even when he was "righteous" his beliefs kinda Sucked

Like "the strong must protect the weak". There are inherent sort of... values being placed there, because weak is negative, not neutral. It's relatively minor, but I think it's important to note with how his beliefs evolve.

It's not like "we need to protect the people who can't protect themselves" it's really reductive. There's weak people and strong people and basically Noblisse Oblige but for strength or whatever which isn't really actual kindness or equality but rather pretty much. Pity.

Also he sorts jujutsu sorcerers into "strong" and everyone else into "weak" for the most part so that's... great worldview my guy. Definitely not going to just worsen your alienation from other ppl

so when he goes to "why should the strong protect the weak?" He jumps to "the strong don't owe anything to the weak, and actually the weak should be Punished For Being Weak" instead of. Just doing something else. Just get a fucking job, my guy

Anyway his plan is just garbage top to bottom total mess morally and logistically and he's a traumatized teen who grew into an abuser and like. The trauma influenced that but there were always fucking problems so it isn't "oh he got hurt and is evil :(" it's "he has some worrying beliefs and his trauma is likely making his emotions and ability to reason unstable, and then he finds an excuse to turn that instability into Violence" like. He's not necessarily abusive bc he's mentally ill or traumatized marginalized he's abusive bc he got to a point in his life where he could justify it to himself and it felt Good

And I just remembered this part: for the characters who interact with him I do enjoy that they still like and love him, even though he fucking sucks, because that's very human. You'll love imperfect people, you'll love horrible ppl who hurt you and/or others, and that isn't irredeemable it's just Human because being a Human and Connecting With Humans is complicated like that

I even like it when they excuse his bad behavior! Bc that's a realistic character flaw, to value the person u consider your friend over the people they hurt! It's not ethical, but it's natural and interesting to explore in fiction.

THE PROBLEM. IS WHEN THE AUTHORS DO NOT TREAT OR ACKNOWLEDGE IT AS A PROBLEM.

Like... listen. Love a relationship where one character sucks and the other character forgives them for the ppl they hurt and just wants their loved one back. The problem is when the writers are like "aww this is so sweet/romantic/beautiful" WHATEVER. Because it's not??

Someone defending their fucking abusive partner/friend/family member, especially when they aren't victims themselves, isn't fucking sweet it's scary, either for them or others!!!! And I want either to see the characters grapple with the way they excuse their loved ones' abuses and how that reflects on them and their morals, or, if the characters don't do that, for the author to acknowledge it as A Flaw!!!! I'd that too much to fucking ask

Especially with cult abuse, I don't want to say it's necessarily treated worse than any other type of abuse, but it feels really hard to find things related to fictional cults that actually acknowledge the Real Life Damage and Abuse cults do instead of having the cult be 1. Faceless evil 2. A joke 3. Fetishized/romanticized. And like all forms of abuse are similarly distorted in media + fiction, but I feel like ive almost never seen cult abuse portrayed respectfully/accurately, especially in fan works

Anyways for the wild TL;DR I think Geto Suguru's personality is comparable to an anti-sjw trans guy who is getting scarily close to Actual Fascist beliefs and is hurting all the people around him and his ex mutuals are like "he's not that bad" when he is That Bad and I'm so fucking mad about what happened to Nanako and Mimiko. If I think about their canon treatment I get so upset I start to have a headache

[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (04) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, prior incidence of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 11.4k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: Hiii I'm getting slower with editing and writing so please bear with me moving forward! Also pls remember, this is a slow burn haha. But anyway, been loving your replies (I see you) and messages, thank you. I hope you enjoy this one!

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight  🥰

PS. If I can’t tag you, pls fix your settings!

The events of last weekend remain in your mind, as you approach Jungkook’s apartment the next Monday and feel like your heart will leap out of your chest. 

You remind yourself that he wasn’t angry at you; he’d even tried to apologize and didn’t make a fuss when you left the restaurant last Saturday. But still, the whole incident would make anyone feel agitated, and you know his capacity to feel and express that. He was inconvenienced and put on the spot, after all. 

You enter, and shortly after, Jungkook exits the gym then greets you with a nod when he sees you. He looks more tired than anything. He doesn’t have a hint of frustration in his eyes, and you could only hope that he’d forgotten about what happened or, like how he is when it comes to personal matters, he’d chosen not to acknowledge it. 

You bow in return, sneaking a glance as he walks towards his bedroom, with your throat drying up when he removes his shirt, briefly gracing you with a view of his glistening toned back right before disappearing inside. You wait half a minute before you follow him to prepare his clothes, giving yourself time to breathe before you have to face him again. You return to the kitchen and prepare his breakfast, looking up when you hear him walk in.

You approach him to do an act that’s become a routine for you, and for him as well, as he stands straight and unmoving while you tighten his tie and make sure he looks fine. Even when your fingers only graze his clothed chest, the memory from last Saturday becomes vivid, as you recall wiping his wine-soaked top, feeling the taut body underneath. 

You shake your head at the thought, realizing that there are more things about that night that you should not acknowledge at all, including the heat you felt at seeing him in the washroom, a little exposed and definitely sweaty. There was that tension and the dropping of formalities that felt too foreign and quite disorienting. You don’t know him as anything other than the ‘Mr. Jeon’ you assist; seeing him as just ‘Jungkook’ was different. But you suppose that that’s the man you help everyday, and you wonder how much of himself he leaves behind in the office and how much of him now is just… him. 

As you go about your routine during breakfast, you’re reminded that for Jungkook, there doesn’t seem to be a difference. How he is at work is the same as how he is elsewhere - serious, quiet, and detached. Except maybe when he’s with those women he meets at clubs, though. Perhaps the thrill and pleasure inject a bit of emotion and passion in him. You wouldn’t know, but at least it’s a way for him to take a break from the responsibilities he carries. 

You scold yourself internally again. You’re not supposed to be curious; you’re not supposed to care. So you shake all of them away and remind yourself of who you are and your own distance that you should observe.

You get to your senses and proceed accordingly. You go about as usual in the morning with his meetings, and then he shuts his office so he could focus in the afternoon. You see his furrowed brows from the window, as he works on what seems to be the Arts Center again, given his requests for financial and marketing reports of the company's non-residential projects from the last five years.  

You’re busy with organizing his Singapore trip and coordinating with the CEO’s office about the upcoming Appointment Dinner to formally introduce the new appointees, when he exits his room and looks through the folders lined on the shelf behind you.

“Where are the portfolios of our collaboration projects from 2017?” He asks. 

“They’re in the archive room,” you answer, standing up to head there. 

But he does it first, beating you to the corner area just off the hallway to the left. Your steps are obviously not at pace with his, and he’s tiptoeing to reach for a large folder by the time you get there. He’s able to retrieve it, laying it on the ledge as he goes through some pages. 

“I could’ve gotten that,” you say softly, and Jungkook turns to you and wishes he hadn’t, as your pout makes his insides melt. 

There’s something about your disappointment that you didn’t get to help him that makes his heart race a little, and while he knows it has everything to do with you thinking that he’d think you’re not doing your job properly, he still likes to keep the thought that you’d wanted to help him in the first place.

“It was heavy,” he explains. 

“I’ve carried and pulled and pushed things way heavier than that folder,” you scoff. 

“Really?” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, trying not to show amusement on his face. “My cousin let you do all those things, huh?”

You frown at his attempt to catch you slipping. “I do many things in the background during events, Mr. Jeon, things that get everything functioning properly while Mr. Jung engages with the guests.”

Jungkook can only imagine how much work you put into getting those events hosted by the VP’s office running. Perhaps retrieving heavy folders is no big deal for you. But still, he doesn’t want to come across as a jerk for making you do something he can do on his own. He already was, he reminds himself, and you also definitely think he is;  he doesn’t want to add to that any more, not after everything that’s happened. 

So he just nods. “It’s a simple task I can do.”

Jungkook looks at the labeled boxes and folders. He’s got materials and design points to finalize by tonight. There are some more past projects he wants to go through to take inspiration from, and he finds another one he wants to look at, underestimating its weight, which is why he jerks in surprise when he feels how heavy it really is.

You’re there on cue, as if you knew it was gonna be too much. And if he’d asked you, you probably would’ve told him so. 

You’re standing much closer to him, your fingers grazing against his as you hold onto the folder. It’s almost familiar, only because you stood this close to him that night at the restaurant, too - when you cleaned him up, and then when you handed him his clothes in the washroom. You actually stand this close to him everyday when you fix his tie. Perhaps after all that, it’s only dawning on you just how little space between you two there are sometimes, and you’re suddenly hyper aware - of the distance, of his scent, of the way he’s looking back at you when you turn to look at him. 

“It was heavy,” he admits. 

And for some reason, you laugh. Maybe it’s the slightly embarrassed look on his face or it’s just your defense mechanism when you feel tense but you let out an amused sound, with it fading as the time goes by and you realize you’re actually laughing at your boss. 

“Making fun of me, Ms. Cho?”

“I… I’m sorry, Mr. Jeon,” you stammer, stepping away. 

You’re about to mentally curse yourself until you see his slight smirk, and the thought of him making fun at you by scaring you like that makes you feel better. He may have some sense of humor after all. 

Still, you bow in apology, and there’s a moment when you meet his eyes, with something not anger or frustration in them, that you both linger, as if there are things both of you feel that need to be said; you just don’t know what they are.

“Did the dry cleaners get to remove the wine stains?” You manage to get some words out, turning away now as you bring up last Saturday night. 

“Uh, yeah,” he responds. There’s a pause before he continues. “Did… did you get home okay?”

You’re too stunned to be able to answer right away but you eventually do. “Uh, yeah. Jimin, Soomin, and I just bought food and then went to my apartment. And you?”

“I did,” he nods.

“Did… did Hajoon bother you again after we left?”

“No. Well, he just kept giving me the death stare but he didn’t do anything else,” he says. 

“I really don’t know what got him so worked up,” you sigh, feeling bolder at having to share this much. “He’s not usually confrontational and he knows I hate it. That shouldn’t have happened.”

“People have their reasons for getting angry. They’re not always valid, though, and definitely not always warranted,” Jungkook replies, briefly looking away. “Whatever it is, at least he didn’t throw a punch.”

“Oh, if he did, that is it for me,” you chuckle, feeling unfamiliar with being able to talk to Jungkook so casually like this. “Goodbye, job; goodbye, Seoul. I will probably just work as a librarian somewhere.”

Jungkook wants to say he wouldn’t accept your resignation for that reason, that he doesn’t want you to go anywhere, actually. But that’s too much and probably inappropriate to say given the circumstances. So he just hums and turns back to the folder and looks through them. 

“I’ll need these back in my room,” he says, carrying one while you take the other. 

You appreciate the topic change, knowing you won’t know how to handle more if the conversation deepens. You both walk back quietly, as it dawns on you that the casual nature you both talked to each other is a little disorienting. 

You’re not used to him sounding concerned.

He’s not used to you being honest and open. 

Perhaps seeing a different side of him isn’t all that bad, you think. 

Jungkook wants to believe it’s your way of forgiving him, too, even if he hasn’t actually apologized for anything. 

The minute it takes to return to your respective desks ends, and Jungkook is back to focusing on his designs while you get back to making reservations. You peek inside his room every once in a while to check if he’s okay, if there’s anything else he needs, if there’s anything you can do for him. 

The frustrated look on his face isn’t new, but the fact that it isn’t directed at you, is. So is the worried feeling you have for him. You’re a mix of emotions from everything that’s happened this past month, so you can’t deny that the way he’s been acting towards you has left you confused, maybe even doubtful. You have to be cautious, you think, and not fall into a comfortable dynamic with him so easily. 

The next day, he’s back to being serious once again, as you sit to his right in the restaurant that will be catering the upcoming VP event. Jungkook decided for both of you to have the food tasting for lunch, and so a spread has been prepared for him to make the final decision on the menu. 

You’d like to think that you’ve developed quite a sophisticated palate, all thanks to the numerous events that Hoseok asked you to organize in your three years working under him. With this upcoming dinner party a sort of introduction of Jungkook and the project to the art world, he wants to make sure that he serves only the best to the guests, which is why he carefully tastes each dish, trying to determine the best combination that’s both delicious and creative. 

You give your comments, some of which he acknowledges, and you feel like you’re both making headway in terms of the menu, as well as with his disposition for the day, given that he’s looking more comfortable and relaxed than he was half an hour ago.

That is, until he sips his wine for the first time, and clears his throat.

“I believe I specifically said that lunch today is a work matter, Ms. Cho,” he says sternly. “You’re on the clock and this isn’t a break.”

“Y—yes, Mr. Jeon,” you answer, curious as to the reason for his statement.

“Then why is your boyfriend waiting outside the restaurant, trying to catch your attention?”

“What?” You exclaim, turning around and spotting Hajoon standing by the lamppost, his sullen eyes getting a bit of light in them once they meet yours. “I… I don’t know,” you respond. “I haven’t spoken to him since Saturday.”

“How did he know you’re here, then?”

“His restaurant is just up the street,” you sigh. “He must’ve seen me when he was walking there. This area is his usual route. Please just ignore him.”

“I can’t when he’s in my peripheral vision. He’s still the man who got in my face the other night. He clearly wants to speak to you and I don’t think he’ll go away,” Jungkook reasons. 

You look at him, waiting for his instructions. 

Jungkook doesn’t like that Hajoon is there and he also doesn’t want you to speak with him during work hours, especially if it’s going to affect you for the rest of the day. But the man seems desperate and persistent; he really doesn’t seem like he’ll just let this moment of seeing you pass.

“You have five minutes,” Jungkook says. 

You don’t exactly want to go out there; there’s a reason why you haven’t returned Hajoon’s texts or calls these past days. But you can imagine that it’s a worse look for him to be staying around; a distraction during this work matter that you know Jungkook would not appreciate one bit. So you stand up and tell him that you’ll be back shortly.

Jungkook returns to the dish in front of him, noting that the Japanese mushroom risotto is a good addition to the set menu. The event his office is planning includes a sit down dinner and then an offering of canapés and champagne while guests walk around the venue to see the presentation of the Arts Center in large boards and on screens. It will be a good way for him to socialize - something he’s incredibly nervous about because it’s not his strongest suit, nor is it something he enjoys, unlike his cousin. The primary goal, though, is to introduce the project. Jungkook needs important people on board so they can be involved in the launch and the succeeding special activities.

He tries to think about that night and how he wants to design the place. He tries to think of other things, too, like the music and decor, even if he’d said that’s for both of you to plan next week. He’s even thinking of a follow up already, even if his management support team is in charge of that and would be dependent on how this first one is gonna go. 

Jungkook tries to think of anything, really, just so he won’t constantly be glancing at you in his periphery, as you talk to the man from the other night and possibly make up. You did leave him at the restaurant last Saturday; you also did clarify that you’re not together. You just said you haven’t spoken since then, so it’s safe to say that both of you aren’t in good terms. 

Jungkook can only assume, though. He doesn’t know the story, nor would he ever; he reminds himself he shouldn’t be thinking about it in the first place. He was never one to be privy to his staff’s personal lives; he spent most of his time with Lucas but didn’t know more than his family's composition. Jungkook doesn’t even recall knowing if Lucas had a partner, or if his then-assistant even mentioned it. 

But clearly, Hoseok knows more about you than Jungkook would’ve expected. Perhaps it’s just how his cousin is, or maybe the time spent together just created that environment where it’s natural or normal. Maybe it’s the culture that his father encouraged; his old man is quite close with Mr. Ri - his former chauffeur and bodyguard - and Mrs. Myung - his executive assistant, after all. 

But it’s not what Jungkook is used to; it’s not how he spent his few years in the Singapore office because like always, all he did was work and party. His mentor in graduate school also advised him that professional lines are ones he shouldn’t cross. Though Jungkook never really knew what exactly those were, he just dared not get close to anyone or be remotely interested at all, and that never caused him any problem. He’s always been safe where he was, guarded and unbothered.

But ever since you walked through those doors at Hoseok’s office that first Friday, Jungkook has been finding himself skirting near the boundaries far too often, and it’s only been a month. It began with making sure you’re eating well and that you’re safe on the way to work; he convinces himself that’s human decency, although he never really bothered much before. 

And between wanting you to get proper rest before your trip to your hometown, to seeing you with that man from last weekend and being so bothered by it that it caused a scene, Jungkook’s internal alarm bells are ringing, telling him that he’s getting too interested, too close. It doesn’t help that he finds you attractive, something he doesn’t have control over. What he does have a say in is how he responds to it, and that has been incredibly tough, especially given the weekend he’s had. 

He’d spent the rest of it trying to keep his mind off you - the way you looked in that outfit, the way your touch sent shivers down his spine, the way you’d looked at him worriedly… And when you walked out of that restaurant, he wondered what you were thinking, how you were feeling, how you’d be spending the rest of the night, and if you were gonna be home okay. He hasn’t really stopped since.

Even now, as he stays in his seat and tightly grips his glass of wine at the scene unfolding outside. 

You’re standing with your arms crossed - setting the boundaries, and perhaps signaling your detachment, though he can’t see your face. The man, on the other hand, seems emotional, the tinge of sadness evident on his face. But there’s a mix of frustration and anger, too, as his arms flail around. He points at you, then at himself. His voice seems raised; Jungkook swears he can see the veins from the man’s neck popping out while you… you’ve got your head turned to the side, your body not eliciting much of the emotion the way the man’s is. 

Jungkook stops himself from making an excuse for you to come back inside, just so he can pull you away from a conversation that you don’t seem to be wanting to have. But he knows it’s not his place, and the man might make a scene again if Jungkook decides to step in. You know how to stand up for yourself; you’d done it to him, he reminds himself. You’ll do what you need to do, whatever it is.

The man heaves, as whatever monologue he was giving ends. He reaches out to you, perhaps making a final plea, but you step back, widening the distance. It’s what prompts him to bow his head and turn around, leaving you by the lamppost on your own. 

Jungkook sighs in relief now and he waits for you to return, but he’s surprised when you stay rooted in your spot, your arms wrapping around yourself despite the heat outside. He worries when you enter, your head bowed down and unable to look at him. 

He wants to ask how you are, but he’s unsure if he’s ready for your answer, knowing that there isn’t much he can do anyway. So he goes with what he knows - detachment. 

“I’ve chosen the last two dishes,” he says. “They’re serving the desserts soon.”

You turn to him immediately, your misty eyes painted with worry meeting his own.

“I didn’t think I was away that long,” you state, worried about the time you left your boss waiting while dealing with a personal matter that for the first time made you wish you were stuck with Jungkook instead. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jeon.”

He didn’t expect you to look so upset. He’s terrible at comforting people, but even if he wasn’t, he doesn’t know if he’d manage to comfort you. So he just shrugs and says that they were straightforward dishes. 

You both try the desserts then the canapés, exchanging thoughts about all the options before shortlisting your chosen dishes. By the time the food tasting is over, you’re stuffed and set for the rest of the day. 

You try not to look at Jungkook. You don’t know if he’d seen how your conversation went with Hajoon, but if he had, he could probably tell what was going on even if he couldn’t hear anything. 

He’s had his moments, but you’ve never seen Hajoon look that upset and emotional, and you stood there, afraid to face all his feelings that you didn’t know what to do with, all those words that you didn’t know how to take. You’re usually one who’s able to let negative things said to you just go over your head, but something about what he’d said today hit you; you know it’ll take you until tomorrow to get over them.

But you try to get through the rest of the day the way you usually do - going through reports, organizing schedules, finalizing tomorrow’s presentation, and then working on the revised interdepartmental guidelines that Jungkook tasked you to do. 

There are draft letters you send to him, thinking that you’ll work on some administrative matters while he reviews them, but you’re surprised when he calls for you 10 minutes later, saying the letters are approved and you can send them in the morning. You’re left wondering, given that anything you submit to him usually goes through intense scrutiny. Perhaps you’re not used to this easy pass, but you try not to overthink it, given the day you’ve had.

“You can go home, Ms. Cho,” he says as he types away. 

It’s 5:30 PM. Usually this time, he’s still handing you things to review or instructing you on what else to do. 

He seems to pick up on your silence, as without looking at you, he clarifies. “I don’t need you to do things you can do tomorrow. We’ll have meetings all day so I understand if you want to stay behind but you don’t have to.”

He doesn’t seem like he’ll be finishing soon, and you’re really not in the best mood so you nod and bid him goodbye.

The conversation with Hajoon stays in your mind all night and lasts until the next day. You’re in Jungkook’s penthouse the next morning, preparing his breakfast while he takes a shower. 

With your phone snug under your neck, you relay to Soomin what happened yesterday. She was too busy last night for a call and she’s been bugging you since you got in the car - that you continue to ride as per your boss’ instructions - so you finally picked up, knowing how long it usually takes for Jungkook to finish.

“It started with him apologizing, then wondering why I haven’t been picking up his calls, then justifying his actions from last Saturday as him, standing up for me,” you narrate. “Obviously, I didn’t take those too kindly.  But he said he wanted to be with me, like, have an actual relationship. And I said I didn’t want to then he just… he kinda just said everything he’s been keeping in.”

“Which is what?” Soomin asks.

“That I’m selfish, that I don’t think about what my actions may mean to others, which is silly since I was clear from the start about what I wanted from him,” you sigh. “He said that I act independent but that’s just a front, that deep down I’m a lonely woman who’ll probably push away every person who’s shown me they care until I have no one left and that’s why I’ll be alone forever, which he says is a deep fear that I have because I apparently told him that when I was drunk. And even after all that, he said he still cares about me, that he wants to try to be something for real this time, that if I just let him, he’ll love me right and make me happy and I just backed away, like, why would you—”

The clearing of the throat cuts you off, and you nearly drop the expensive plate due to panic once you look up and see Jungkook standing by the kitchen.

“I’m so sorry for taking a personal call, Mr. Jeon,” you say immediately, putting away your phone. “It won’t happen again.”

You bow your head down in apology, which is why you don’t see the way Jungkook’s eyes soften as he looks at you. Words like that hurt, and he can’t imagine what it must’ve felt like for you hearing them. Still, you went about yesterday with your accomplished tasks and completed deliverables like it didn’t happen, displaying a kind of strength that he could only hope to have.

“Yesterday was a tough, I suppose,” he states, choosing to ignore your apology. 

“It was a normal one,” you brush off, walking towards him to fix his tie, not meeting his gaze. 

Jungkook doesn’t reply, knowing you don’t want to acknowledge that he’d overheard your conversation, which he didn’t mean to walk in on. It did bother him, too; he suddenly wishes he’d fought back if that man was just going to speak to you that way. 

There’s a sadness in your eyes that he tries not to mind and which you try to trivialize. Perhaps the man matters that much to you for you to be feeling this bad; Jungkook doesn’t really know what to do with that thought. So he tries to brush it off, too, telling you instead to be ready for today’s meeting with his father. 

You ask if he’s checked the presentation you worked on, as you added things from the last time. He nods and says he only added minimal details that he came up with last night, and you check to find that he indeed just made minute changes, another thing that you’re thankful for yet wary of, especially given how critical he was about your work in the beginning. 

You continue with your morning routine of debriefing about yesterday’s meetings, then you finalize the Arts Center event’s menu in the car. When you arrive at the office, you wait patiently as he goes through some reports that you’ve checked, then he reviews some memos that he asked you to work on. 

The last one finishes faster than you expected. It seems now that his comments are what you look for, only because it reminds you that he hasn’t changed; somehow that seems like a better thought to have than him suddenly being lenient or lowering his standards for you for some unknown reason. He’s definitely witnessed some of your low moments; you don’t want to think those have anything to do with how he’s been lately.

The meeting with the management support team ends before lunch time, and you work on the minutes and the other things Jungkook had asked of you during the time that he meets with Yoongi in his office. That takes another half hour, and by the time they’re done, you’re done with your tasks, too, so you send those documents to Jungkook for checking in the afternoon.

Another one off the list, you think to yourself. At this point, you’re just going over all your deliverables with a focused mindset and waiting for the day’s end so you can spend time for yourself, just on the couch watching variety shows and movies until the weekend comes when you can do that for longer hours. 

Having your friends over or traveling to Daegu are the only other things you look forward to. You used to look forward to spending the night at Hajoon’s, too; you could at least feel something pleasurable - the closest you could get to any form of intimacy that didn’t require you to bare yourself other than your body. But that’s a thing of the past now - there’s that amazing life-changing toy that Soomin got you last Sunday that’s got you thinking that you’ll be fine being alone for the rest of your life.

“Long day, huh?” 

You look up and see Yoongi, his curious eyes scanning your desk full of papers, folders, and half-eaten biscuits.   

“It has been,” you sigh.

“I see. It’s also only just 12 noon,” he points out.

“What a shocking revelation, Min Yoongi,” you grunt. “I don’t need to be reminded that I have another six hours here.”

“Hmm, just like me. So, what are you looking forward to when you clock out?”

“My leftover stir-fry for dinner that I’m going to add beef to,” you respond. “And The Zone. I missed it last Monday.”

“You and your variety shows,” he chuckles.

“What other reason do I have to laugh, hmm?”

“I’d say me, but you don’t find me funny.”

“You aren’t, sorry,” you smile, your first of the day, and Yoongi smiles back, knowing you haven’t been doing it the past few weeks.

“So–”

“Ms. Cho,” Jungkook’s voice cuts Yoongi off, as your boss stands by his open door with curious eyes that flit from you to the man in front of you. He recovers though, as he instructs, “the minutes are fine. Send it to the team now so they can work on their tasks.”

“You’ve read it?” You speak too soon, realizing a second too late that the words didn’t stay in your head. Your widened eyes don’t help you though, as Jungkook scowls at you.

“Are you asking me if I’ve read the file that I just approved and instructed you to disseminate?”

Yoongi purses his lips to hold off a laugh, and you glare at him because his teasing isn’t really what you need right now. 

“I meant, uh, you’ve reviewed it already, sir? I… thought… you were going to prepare for the lunch meeting instead,” you reason, which isn’t even a lie. 

“I have. Father hasn’t called me up so I just reviewed the minutes while waiting.”

You look at the file and see that nothing has been added. “And? That’s it?”

“Ms. Cho, are you questioning my ability to review?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowed as he starts to look displeased, although they seem harmless compared to his frustrated expressions from the past. 

“No, Mr. Jeon, I apologize,” you say. “I was wondering if you didn’t have anything more to add, that’s all.”

“There’s none,” he clarifies. “Just send it to the team and uh… get ready for the meeting.”

He glances at Yoongi before closing the door.

“Questioning your boss’ ability to review now, huh?” Yoongi teases.

“Shut up. He’s just been weird,” you pout.

“That’s new. How so?”

“He hasn’t been an asshole for a few days.”

“Well, that’s quite the standard but I get you, I guess,” Yoongi hums. “In what way has he been out of character?”

“He just… hasn’t been pointing things out and correcting my submissions or asking a lot of questions about the reports I review,” you say. “Or just… you know, he hasn’t been him. He makes Mr. Ri pick me up every morning, he doesn’t email on the weekend, I get to leave on time, I get to eat properly…”

“In short, he’s been a decent boss recently?”

“I guess… I mean, it’s been two weeks since my mishap. He’s been quite tolerable these past few days. Maybe he hit his head and some loose screws tightened. Maybe he had a bad dream and the ghost of the future me visited him. Maybe he had a change of heart… though that’s highly unlikely. Maybe he–”

“Realized he hasn’t been good to you and doesn’t want you to go through the horror of another Mrs. Byun,” Yoongi interjects. 

Your curious eyes prompt him to continue. “We had a meeting the other day and I saw a folder on his desk with her name on it. Formal complaints are only available in physical copies; other personnel files are stored in the server, so the only documents he’d have of her are the ones of her investigation. And he’d only be interested in that because of you. Those include your written statements.”

“As do you yours,” you point out.

“Yes, he’d totally be interested in how his design lead witnessed a manager’s abuse of power three years ago,” Yoongi sarcastically says.

You sigh to yourself. You’ve never told Jungkook about your experience with Mrs. Byun, but you wouldn’t be surprised if Hoseok or even Yoongi has mentioned it to him. It’s an experience you don’t like to think about; you were a young woman who had everything to prove, who had a lot to lose, and conceding to someone taking advantage of you seemed like the only way to survive. Not once did you put your foot down, and not once did you stand up for yourself. You experienced all those then went home to an empty house and found comfort in your own warmth and your own breathing. 

You don’t want that experience to determine how others would treat you after. Hoseok was all things gentle and warm and you know that whatever you went through wouldn’t have determined how he treated you. 

But Jungkook… Jungkook is different. This isn’t his default state. This isn’t how he normally is. This isn’t how you started. The last thing you want is for him to feel pity for all that you went through - in the past and recently - and then treat you differently because of it. He’s been less critical, less judgmental, and less doubtful of your capabilities. You only wish it isn’t for anything that he’d read or seen you experience. 

“I doubt it,” you shake your head. “A man that perpetually displeased doesn’t just decide one day that he’d give the bare minimum of decency to his assistant.”

“Look, ___. Jungkook is a lot of things. He has a lot of feelings that he doesn’t want to deal with, and a lot of emotions he doesn’t know how to express,” Yoongi tries to explain. “I wouldn’t be friends with him if I didn’t believe there’s an ounce of goodness in him. And there is. Maybe him showing it just isn't good timing. He’s terrible at that, too. In fact, he’s terrible at a lot of things, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t try. It doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of kindness.”

“Kindness,” you huff. That’s quite a reach, but Yoongi’s always been a good judge of character. You do want to believe what he says about Jungkook; it’s just not an easy switch to flip. “I’m just trying not to care much at this point,” you sigh. “I come to work, focus on my tasks, do whatever I’m asked, go back home, rinse and repeat.”

“Is it satisfying, though?” 

“When was work ever satisfying, Yoongi?” You laugh bitterly. 

“Well, I could at least recall seeing you enjoy organizing those events for Hoseok and even joining him in some,” Yoongi points out. “I… I saw you smile a lot. There was a bit of satisfaction there, yeah?”

“Somehow, I guess. But I just had to make do. Hoseok was great, but this is also my job, really the only thing going for me.”

“What are you working towards, then?”

“I don’t really know. Maybe at 30 I should know but I really don’t.”

“Then why are you still here?” He asks, softly, desperately. “Why do you stay?”

“And find out who I am outside of all this?” You wonder out loud. “What if I don’t like her? What if she isn’t good?”

“Then this place hasn’t been good for you if you doubt who you are outside of what you’ve done here,” Yoongi says. “You’re just 30; there’s a whole world out there where you can learn who you are and be someone you actually like. I don’t know what’s stopping you.”

A lot of things, you think to yourself. But when you find comfort in discomfort, when you find security in chaos, and when you find companionship in loneliness, it’s not that easy to leave all this behind, even if deep down, you know it’s what you have to do.

“I don’t know, too,” you lie. “Maybe I’ll find a good enough reason one day and that would be it; I’ll be out of here and then I can find out if I like myself outside of everything I know.”

“I think you would.”

I did, Yoongi thinks to himself. He knows you’d laugh and agree; he’s moved on from you and things can’t be any better than how your friendship is right now, but he also knows you’re not the best at feelings, a similarity he realizes you have with the person you supposedly dislike. 

“I won’t know until then, I guess. So I just gotta bear with who I am now,” you say.

There’s so much of you that Yoongi doesn’t know. It’s why he wanted to, why he asked you out for coffee and why he felt a bit of a heartbreak when you turned him down. But there are parts of you that he does know, that you let him see, and sometimes he finds himself wishing you’d find someone you’d feel safe enough with to share everything else you keep to yourself. 

He keeps these things to himself, too. He’s learned that the only way to keep you close is to keep his distance; you’ll reach out if you need to, even if it’s something you rarely do. But what’s important is that he’ll be there just in case; what matters is you know that there’s a hand available when you need it. 

So he just nods and takes your word for it. You’ll find yourself somehow, in whatever way you will. And you’ll find a reason to leave, whenever that is. He could only hope it’s a decision you’d make on your own, one that you won’t regret, and one that’ll lead you to find whatever it is that you’re looking for.

“So what, they want to put a stop to the Arts Center? They’re not the ones working hard for it. And quite frankly, I don’t need their help in any way to make it happen.”

Jungkook shakes his head in disbelief, anger manifesting in the way he clenches his jaw and groans repeatedly. It’s a sight you’re familiar with by now, and for the first time, you feel for him. It feels as if with this project, he doesn’t seem to have anyone on his side, aside from Hoseok, who’s been encouraging and helpful in many ways. 

“They don’t want to stop it, son,” CEO Jeon says. “They’re merely questioning some of your decisions about the prices you’ve set out.”

“In short, they’re undermining me,” Jungkook groans. “This is my project. We’ve done the necessary research. If they read the report, they’d know. But clearly, they just want reasons to doubt all this, to doubt me.”

“It’s just the first project of its kind,” his father reasons. “The arts institution from 2017 was a collaboration and it wasn’t this big. The Arts Center just isn’t the usual commercial establishment that the VP office undertakes. The Board just wants to be clear about the profits because it’s not as straightforward as the others. They want to know how the property will earn.”

“Exhibition entrance tickets, bookings, rent,” Jungkook replies. “What’s not straightforward about that? Might as well say they don’t understand or even value arts and culture because that makes money, and if done right and respectfully, it can make a lot of money. I know what I’m doing.”

“It’s not like I didn’t make those points, son. It’s your first big project. I think they just—”

“Don’t believe I can manage it on my own.”

“They don’t think you can make the necessary connections on your own,” CEO Jeon finally says. “We all know how important that is. They doubt you’d be able to forge good relationships with professionals in an industry we don’t really have strong connections to. And with a project this big, it’s the company’s resources and reputation on the line.”

There’s silence in the room, as Jungkook seems to process the core issue that the Board has with him. You can tell it’s affecting him so much, as the anger in his eyes slowly turns into resignation. 

It’s no secret that Jungkook’s way of engaging with others leaves a lot to be desired. From what you can see, he’s used to thinking more, envisioning, planning - the concepts and designs are amazing in his head and there are others tasked to sell that idea, to make it connect with people, to express why it matters, and to make sure it earns. That’s what Hoseok is good at; Jungkook never seemed like the type who enjoys that aspect of the work. 

“You should’ve thought about my outstanding interpersonal skills before appointing me as Vice President, then,” he says bitterly. “Clearly that’s what the Board and everyone else value more than anything.”

“Hey, Kook. We know you’re good for this role,” Hoseok comforts. “And we believe in your project, we really do. Just focus on that. Make sure you’re constantly adjusting and refining the plans, and remind the Board that your ideas are even better when they’ve come to life. You’ve done it with your other projects before. Eventually you’ll be able to show them that you’re more than capable of forging relationships, too. That’ll come naturally. But in the meantime, you just have to give them something to make them believe it’ll be good for the company and our image in the long-run. Make them envision it.”

“I have,” Jungkook argues. “And I’ll keep doing that. I just need father to be on my side. I just need him to back me up, to trust me and every single one of my decisions.”

You’ve never heard desperation in Jungkook’s voice until today and you’re surprised with how much it’s affecting you, not just because you know how much effort he’s put into conceptualizing the place but because you’ve come to believe in it, too.

“Ms. Cho.”

CEO Jeon’s voice pulls you away from Jungkook, and you turn to the older man and ask if there’s anything he needs.

“Your thoughts,” he responds. “What would the Arts Center mean for the company? Do you think it will yield profits?”

They’re not questions that are new to you. Hoseok would often ask you these things about the smaller projects that go through him. CEO Jeon has asked you the same things in informal situations before, not so much to gain new insight - although he claims that your thoughts are interesting to him - but to gauge your belief in the project. He has a good read on people; you’ve observed him ask questions and pick apart not what they said but how they said it. You suppose that’s what he’s doing now, too.

“You’ve mentioned a few times that you want to expand the company’s market, Mr. Jeon,” you start. “And if I remember correctly, the Board agreed. Efforts to cater to expats and the middle class have been successful, but perhaps another type of expansion is in engaging the field of the arts and culture and its creators and consumers. More people from all walks of life and all over the world are gaining interest in Korean art and culture in all forms and the company has the resources to create a space for it. Like what the Vice President said, there’s an opportunity to earn from it while, of course, respecting it.”

You see CEO Jeon and Hoseok nod, a sight you’ve seen before as well. But Jungkook looks at you with curiosity, with a look of anticipation, as if he’s hanging onto every word you’re saying. 

“The Arts Center was conceptualized and designed to be a hub for all things creative,” you continue. “Making general admission free makes the arts accessible to people, and once that appreciation grows, they’ll pay to see it, to experience it. Just go to any online forum and you’ll see that the public wants to experience art, not just observe it. They’d travel for it. The Center has spaces for that. I think that’s the ultimate goal - for anyone to be immersed in it. And that can happen through art pieces in a gallery or in a garden, through books, music, or spoken poetry, or even a photoshoot. Patrons can book rooms for private events, they can buy from the gift shop, they can do art themselves. It’s like a canvas and they can take part in creating meaning for the space. That’s what we’re selling. And that’s something people are willing to buy.”

“I see your point, Ms. Cho,” CEO Jeon says, nodding satisfyingly at you. “And it’s a good one.”

“It’s what Mr. Jeon has been saying all this time,” you counter. “It’s easy to understand and to buy into the idea… if only the Board would listen to him. If only they’d open their mind to what he envisions.”

“Well, that’s one way to get through to them, then,” Hoseok voices out. “Invite them to the arts event, treat them like creators and consumers, not as Board members.”

“That’s a good idea,” CEO Jeon says. “Maybe then they can see how you engage with the guests, which I hope you’re working on. And while you’re at it, work on your relationship with them, too. That means initiating conversations, seeking them out… It's part of the job, son. The Board are our stakeholders, too, you know this.”

“Aren’t some of them based in Japan and Singapore?” You wonder aloud, hinting at another suggestion that you want would come from Jungkook himself, given his scheduled plans to fly there.  

“Yeah. Maybe I can meet them the next time I go,” he says, picking up on your thoughts.

Jungkook isn’t really fond of engaging with them. He always just left the socializing part to his uncle who used to head the Southeast Asian office. When Jungkook would be in Seoul, he let his father, Hoseok, and Ji-woo deal with them, with nothing but an acknowledgment on his end. He tends to stay at the bar on his own just to drown out the sounds. Yoongi sometimes joins him but most times, Jungkook finds himself alone even during such events; being with a lot of people is tiring, lonesome, isolating. With this new role, he’s started to accept that he has to do more. It doesn’t mean he’ll enjoy it though. 

“I’ll have that arranged for you,” you tell him. 

“Well then, that’s one way to revamp your image,” the older man smiles. “You just have to keep that up moving forward. That’s why Ms. Cho is there. She’s used to these events and these engagements with them. You’ll be fine.” 

You give a reassuring smile to Jungkook - a genuine one, as you see it’s what he needs, given all that you learned from today’s meeting. He merely nods, and you think that should be enough of an acknowledgment from his end.

Hoseok wraps it up, going through a few policy-related items and then reminding the other men about upcoming social gatherings that they all need to attend. He asks to briefly speak with Jungkook, whom he pulls aside, while the elder Mr. Jeon approaches you.

“Thank you for standing by Jungkook, Ms. Cho, especially since I haven’t been able to show my support the way I want to,” he says. “I know it hasn’t been easy.”

“It hasn’t, but he made me believe in his vision for the Center,” you respond. “I’m starting to see what he sees. And it’s quite beautiful.”

Jungkook overhears the exchange, as he zoned out on Hoseok once he heard his father address you. 

It’s something that his cousin picks up, as he repeats what he just said, totally unbothered by it. 

Hoseok, of all people, knows how important it is that you have Jungkook’s back. He also knows how difficult that must be for you, given how the man has been towards you all these weeks. 

But you’re unwavering. You’re able to withstand the challenges, and while Hoseok knows that you do have a tendency to also allow yourself to suffer through it, he also knows you’ve learned, and you’ll stand your ground if you need to; he’ll back you up, and he can only hope you know that.

You all exit the private room of the restaurant and head back to the office across the street. It’s 4PM by the time you return to your desk, given that Jungkook called for a meeting with the management support team after what transpired during lunch. 

You immediately work on the minutes and action points, finishing two hours later and then deciding that you’ll work on your next deliverable tomorrow. 

Jungkook exits his room, informing you that he’ll be leaving for an early dinner with Hoseok at a nearby restaurant, and that Mr. Ri can drop you off at your place. You’ve contested the service that was offered to you, and you and Jungkook settled on a compromise that you can go home on your own except for late nights.

“Mr. Ri will just be waiting for me anyway. No harm in driving you home tonight,” Jungkook says, knowing you were about to turn down the offer.

“Okay, sir,” you reply.

You do last minute things and pack up immediately to go home, taking this chance to get proper rest because you know the last two days of the week are going to be tiring. 

The next day, Jungkook does conference calls and closed-door meetings, leaving you to do summary reports and other administrative backlogs that have your eyebrows scrunched the entire day. If it wasn’t for Do-hyun reminding you about lunch that you promised to have with her, you would’ve totally forgotten. 

You’re in the zone as you go through the afternoon - two meetings straight that have Jungkook rubbing his temples constantly and you doing the same. But you pop in some aspirin and ginseng jelly next to his cup of tea, feeling satisfied when he takes them.

You go home on time, not wanting to be offered a ride for a consecutive night, and you get proper rest to face the final day of the week. 

It’s all going well, as you find a rhythm early on as you work on your deliverables while Jungkook remains focused on his own tasks. You’re the one who reminds him now to eat his lunch, and seeing the blueprints sprawled on his desk, you offer to buy him one yourself. 

He nods in appreciation as you state his usual order for confirmation, and you eat your sandwich while waiting for his curry rice bowl in the food hall. You get back to your tasks, thankful for the unusually quiet and uneventful Friday. 

You see now how hyper focused Jungkook could get. He’s got his blinds closed but you can tell that he’s immersed in his designs and proposals and plans. He’s not allowing calls or visitors, and he only rings you to ask for coffee, which you’ve given him four times so far. Towards the end of the day, you’re the one who asks to go in, informing him that the Board meeting has been moved to a week earlier than scheduled; it’s two Fridays from now, which means his team has to finalize everything soon.

It’s his first one since becoming Vice President, and given how he used to question you, you’re surprised when he asks your proposed timeline to prepare for the meeting. 

“Manager Lee is already consolidating all the departmental reports,” you respond. “You can instruct him to finalize the VP report with all those by Wednesday; the presentation can be due on Friday so you can go through all of them. We can submit the report for CEO review the Monday after that and then you can prepare for your run through until the meeting.”

“Sounds good,” he replies. “I’ll send them an email with the instructions shortly.”

“Noted, sir,” you say. “I’ve also submitted the minutes of the past two days’ meetings as well as the policy guidelines you asked for.”

“Oh, right,” he says, taking his iPad. “I’ve looked through them. The minutes are good; you can disseminate them accordingly. I’ve highlighted the parts for the condensed version you’ll send to the CEO and the President. I also have minimal corrections and remarks on the policy guidelines and I’ve edited them directly on the file. Just proofread again and then affix my signature once you’ve finished.”

“Y—you’re done?” You ask. You hope he doesn’t pick up the shock in your voice.

“Yes, and I’ve read them. Thoroughly,” he answers.

You smile in embarrassment after the other day. 

“Does that bother you?” He follows up. 

“N-no, sir,” you say, knowing he’s waiting for an answer. “I guess I was expecting you to take longer because, you know, more comments. And you’ve been busy all day, too.”

“More comments… Is that what you’re expecting?”

“Sort of,” you admit. “I mean… you made a lot of them before.”

You pout in reflex as you realize how you sound. You’re basically pointing out how critical he used to be, and if you’re being honest, you do wish he still was. At least that tells you that he’s still the same, that no knowledge of your past experience with your former boss has made him change his disposition towards you. 

Jungkook sees your pout, and he crosses his arms and legs to keep himself from doing something as stupid as wiping it off you. It’s a little disarming for him, if he’s being honest. 

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” you clarify.

Liar, you think to yourself.

“Well, if I used to do it a lot and I still do that after a month in, wouldn’t it reflect poorly on you and me if you still haven’t learned from all that?” He asks.

You think about it and eventually nod. He does have a point.

“You’ve adapted. I’d be worried if you continued to do things the way you used to,” he adds. 

You nod again, taking in all his words. Much as you appreciate them, there’s another thought still bugging you. 

“May I be honest, Mr. Jeon?” You ask, your heart beating fast now as he looks at you curiously. 

He nods anyway and asks you to continue. 

“I don’t think you’d lower your standards or anything when it comes to my work,” you start. “So I don’t want to believe that you pity me just because you know what I experienced in the past.”

He looks at you questioningly, as if to ask what you’re talking about.

“I spotted Mrs. Byun’s files on your table,” you lie. “I assume you’ve read about how she treated me. And I… I don’t want to be pitied, Mr. Jeon. If it’s that, please don’t. Please don’t let it affect how you’d treat me. It wasn’t even that bad—”

“It was,” he interjects. “This company doesn’t tolerate people who abuse their power. I only knew about your case because I’m thorough with my work. And that includes looking into my staff and their past. I did it for everyone,” he lies as well. 

Hoseok and Yoongi had mentioned something about a past experience and Jungkook did dig deep. It was so he could help you professionally, he convinced himself.

“You should also know that I don’t make compromises when it comes to the quality of work of my staff and that means I don’t pity people if they fail to meet my standards. But I suppose you think that I do because of how I was in the beginning,” he continues, surprising you. “I admit I was being too critical. And I don’t have an excuse, just that I absolutely hate change. I’m not good at managing it and I reacted in a way that I’m used to, which is not a good way at all. I know now that I was not fair to you.”

The apology doesn’t come, but you know that the admission means enough already. It’s definitely taken a huge burden off of you. You didn’t dream up all those incidents and it wasn’t entirely on you. That itself gives you relief. 

“My father and cousin were right. You’re a fast learner. You pick up on the comments, work on them immediately, and adjust accordingly. It’s a good trait to have, Ms. Cho.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Jeon.”

“May I be honest, too?” He asks, surprising you again.

You nod, anticipating what he’d say, knowing he’s never been this quiet nor looked this nervous in all these weeks you’ve known him.

“What you said to my father about the Arts Center the other day, I appreciate that, too,” he says. “I guess you could’ve said something general or basic but you didn’t.”

“Your father wouldn’t have minded what I said,” you reply. “What mattered was how I said it. I guess as the person who’s privy to a lot of things about the project, he sincerely wanted to know what I thought about it, if I genuinely believed in it.”

“Well, it was a good way to convince him. And it seemed like he believed you.”

“I’m not a good actor, Mr. Jeon,” you chuckle. “He believed it because I meant it. And he saw that I was on your side. As I should. I still meant it, though.”

“That’s… encouraging,” he huffs. “At least one person is.”

“I’m sure he does, too.”

“It’s ironic that people like Mr. Ri think that my father and I are so alike, yet we don’t see eye to eye most of the time.”

“It’s because you are alike. You both think you’re right all the time,” you joke, teetering on the edge and sighing in relief when he laughs, a sound you don’t think you’ve ever heard. 

“You make a good point,” he smiles a tiny bit, something you also don’t think you’ve ever seen him do. “But I’m still adjusting to working directly with him, and in a bigger role, too. We'll probably butt heads a lot.”

“You will. I already know it. In fact, I can already see it,” you laugh again. 

It’s a moment you share with him that you didn’t imagine you ever would. He’s being honest about his concerns and you’re giving comfort in the way you know how and neither of you seems to mind. 

“I’m… I’m gonna need your help, Ms. Cho,” he says so softly, his eyes turning away from you. “I’m gonna need your assistance. Not just in seeing the Arts Center through but in everything - navigating this role, dealing with my father, dealing with people. I… I know what I’m good at. So I don’t really focus on the things I don’t do well in but this position forces me to confront those and I… I’ll need help.” 

For someone who doesn’t seem to like being vulnerable in front of others, seeing this side of Jungkook makes you sympathetic. The soft tone of his voice, the lack of eye contact, the crossed arms… they’re familiar because it’s how you are, and you know it’s difficult to be this honest with another person, especially when it’s about what you need. 

More than wanting to help him because it’s your job, you find yourself wanting to see him succeed, too, to see him manage it all. That way, when you do eventually leave the company and search whatever it is you’re looking for, you can rest easy knowing that he’ll be okay, that the team will be okay, that the Arts Center will be all that he imagined it to be. 

“I’m here, Mr. Jeon,” you assure him. “I’ll do my best to provide you with the assistance you need.”

“Thank you,” he mutters, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him say those words with such sincerity to you, too.

You bow in acknowledgement and head out, leaving Jungkook in a haze, as he realizes that in your presence, he’d done what he's been trying to avoid ever since you walked in his life - be honest. He’d told you his concerns, his needs, and it seems that his honesty is something you appreciated as well. There was that acceptance that he wouldn’t have expected from you, not because you aren’t the type to give it but because he hasn’t given you a reason to. But you gave it regardless; you let him feel that it was okay. 

It’s another half hour before he’s packing up to head home. It’s been a tiring week and he just wants to have a long bath, watch sports, and drink a cold beer over grilled meat. He’ll probably get some work done but maybe he’ll drive to some resort out of town, have a good workout, get in a sauna, and have a massage. He’ll have a nice meal with his friends and then go to a club. Or maybe he’ll just stay in. There’s something about being honest that makes him want to keep to himself for a while. He’ll start with that tonight, as he turns down Taehyung’s invite to another one of his client’s party.

Jungkook walks out and sees your desk empty, but he does hear your voice coming from the management support team’s room, telling them about your weekend plans as well.

“I’m going to the film festival in Incheon,” you say. “And probably just stay at a hostel.”

“Are you going by yourself?” Do-hyun asks.

“Uh, yeah,” you reply. 

Hajoon was supposed to go with you. He invited himself, actually, and you should’ve read into the fact that he’d wanted to experience your interests with you. You hadn’t minded, and that’s clearly out of the picture now. 

“I usually go to them by myself,” you add.

“Well, if you decide you want to invite one of us or hang out, you can always let us know,” Chin-sun teases, knowing you probably won’t. 

“Let’s wait until we’re not too tired and busy, okay?” You chuckle. “That way, we can afford to do whatever we want on the weekends.”

“Yup, that’ll probably never happen,” Do-hyun pouts. “When are we not tired and busy? It’s probably worse this time because we don’t get to laugh and joke around like we used to. Are we even getting a holiday? Will we have an out-of-town team building? Or dinners and karaoke like how Mr. Jung used to treat us to?”

“The team-building is budgeted so yes, we’ll have it,” you tell them. “And dinners? I can maybe suggest that to Mr. Jeon. And come on, no one’s stopping you from laughing or joking around. You can still do all that.”

“Yeah, but sometimes I feel like I’m not allowed to because it might seem like I’m not serious about my job because our boss is too serious and it doesn’t seem right,” Do-hyun whines. 

And for the first time, you feel genuinely bad for how they think about Jungkook. You don’t blame them though, but the man you saw earlier who broke into a small smile is definitely capable of laughter; you just don’t know how to elicit it from him again. 

“He’s just been under a lot of pressure, but he doesn’t prohibit you from finding joy in anything,” you say. “Just… give him some time, okay? He’ll come around. Let’s just focus on our work and then focus on ourselves when the weekend comes. So all of you, pack up now and go home to your families and your pets. We’ve got a long few weeks ahead.”

Jungkook hears a collective okay then heads out right away, the initial thought of saying goodbye to the team having dissipated. He can’t blame them for voicing out their frustrations over the change in how they’re being managed. Hoseok was loved. He built a competent team whose spirit Jungkook is afraid he’s now breaking. But he’s not like his cousin, and he doesn’t know how to reach out to them in a way that’s genuine. He let the pressure get to him too much early on and while he’s not the type to forge connections with his staff, he’s seeing now how important it is for him as Vice President to do that. 

But it’s too much to think about for today. He’ll let this affect him a little bit and then figure things out. Based on what he heard though, he’s not on his own. You were on his side again, even when you thought he wasn’t around. There’s something about the way you stand up to him and stand by him that’s refreshing. There’s honesty there, too, and he’s learning that it’s what he needs. 

He makes it to the elevator but then holds the door once he hears rapid footsteps. You mutter your thanks as you enter, and he feels the tension build as you’re together after the exchange earlier. He hasn’t gotten over that yet, so he’s unsure how to talk with you. 

It seems like so are you, as you drum your fingers on the strap of your bag and focus on the door while you both wait to make it to the ground floor. Jungkook is tempted to offer you a ride with him but he decides against it. Even then, he slows his steps so he could walk alongside you, as you both head out the main doors.

“Get some rest, Mr. Jeon,” you finally say. “And have a good weekend.”

You look at him with sincerity in your eyes, your smile soft and assuring, something he’s never seen you direct at him before. It’s even different from earlier. There’s more understanding, he thinks. Perhaps there’s care.

“You, too, Ms. Cho,” he replies before entering the car. “Get home safely.”

You bow to him and wave at Mr. Ri before walking down the pathway to the street that leads towards the bus stop. 

Jungkook lets himself be comfortable in the seat while he forces the image of your smile out of his head. The sun has set and it’s Seoul at its busiest on another hot Friday evening. There are more cars than usual and so movement is slow, but that’s how he sees you - walking down the sidewalk in the midst of all these people. And there you are, somehow looking at peace. There’s an air of isolation that surrounds you, but you don’t look lonely. Just… alone. There’s still that warmth in your eyes and your smile that he finds himself wanting to see more of.

This is when he realizes he might be in trouble. There’s a line he shouldn’t cross, but there’s this desire to get to know you, to know your thoughts and your feelings and your words. He reminds himself that he needs you, in a way that an authority figure needs support and assistance. He needs you to be focused and capable, and he needs to be the same. 

With his attraction that he can’t get over, he knows that the only way to make sure that he keeps things professional is to keep his distance - not just physically, but more so emotionally. You’ll definitely be spending more time together and he needs to constantly remind himself of who you are and who he is. That much as he feels safe and honest with you, he can’t go any further; he can’t let you get any closer. He doesn’t know how he’ll do it, but that’s one other thing he’ll figure out.

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[eupheme]

— clean slate [into the fire, part v]

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 4k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, sex for favors, sub/dom elements, canon-typical descriptive violence and death, references to blood/gore, anti-ghoul sentiments, physical violence against reader, hurt/comfort, kissing

a/n: please mind the tags! this chapter got twice as long as the others (maybe I didn't want it to end, haha!) and there was a good break, so to keep things consistent, I am splitting it in half! both are being posted today though, so you don't have to wait 💖

Always said he did this shit for the love of the game. But this time - he thinks - it might just be personal.

(or - they took something from the Ghoul, and he’s here to collect)

The afternoon edges into night, and he tells himself each hour is the last one he'll think about you.

The Ghoul had waited for you to look back. Stock-still in the swirling dust that bit at his skin. A white-knuckled grip around the thick coil of rope. 

You hadn’t. 

His hand still reaches to scrubs at his neck, his jaw. To wipe you away or rub you in, he’s not sure. 

It doesn't fucking matter. 

He's stuck around a long time. Enough to see generations of families grow old and then die. The last few weeks are no more than a blip, in his far too-long life.

Hell - he's spent more time underground, than with you. 

But something prickles at him. Lingering like a bad trip, leaving his teeth clenching and jaw aching as he finishes out the bounty.

It's messy. 

It shouldn't have been. Should have been easy - but he's aching for a fight, something to take his mind off things. He's antagonistic. 

Could've finished everything up from afar, but he ends up in close range. Another scar marring his chest, new splatters streaked across his dark coat. 

It aches, a deep bruise as it heals. 

Still only slightly dulling the itch of irritation.

I haven't lied about anything.  

Didn’t last night mean anything to you?

It's sometime the next morning, after a night of a starless sky closing in around him, that he gives in. 

Heading the way you went without thought, and when he does notice, he tells himself it's only because he needs more chems. That it’d be a shame to lose a supplier as good as you. 

That it's easier, for both of you to stick together. 

Maybe that's why he was careless. Knowing deep down, it would be easier to find a corpse later than to haul around a bounty, kicking and screaming.

The small sliver left of another man, from  another life, knows he was cruel. That anger had turned him into a viper. Had always been good at striking first. Self-preservation beaten into him after two-hundred years - an old, festering wound. 

He doesn’t know how to apologize anymore, but he can already think of a few ways to distract you. 

Maybe you’ll forget completely, if he's thorough. 

The Ghoul is faster than you are. Needs less rest, less food. Has already plotted just how far you can get in a day. Your footprints faded as packed earth leads to woods, but you’re not the type to wander, and there's only a few settlements in the miles ahead. 

Halfway to his destination, when his eyes snag on a patch of rocks. A broken bits of branches on the trees just before it. There's something smeared across the stone - tasting like iron, when the tip of a finger brings it to his tongue.

Something ancient twists in his stomach, awakening from a slumber. 

Backing up, he's able to piece together the struggle. Seeing the flattened grass, the heavy boot prints, melding with the smaller ones. 

Finding a body, fallen off to the side - angling off the rock with the stain. Something familiar about the look of him.

A boot sinks into their side, rolling them over. A curl of a lip - he recognizes them. One of the two bounty hunters they’d fun into. 

He had hated their eyes on you when they blew through that town.

Something had prickled at him then, but he had ignored it. A grit of his jaw - should’ve dealt with both of them. 

There’s a hole in their head - red spilling down their neck, still tacky to the touch. A clean, close shot. His finger sinks in the wound, the same size as your 10mm. 

"Good girl." The Ghoul murmurs. 

The slightest ease of the knot in his chest.

A crunch of glass beneath his feet, the glint of the sun catching the needle. Another shape he knows well - a syringe. Probably a tranquilizer.

Three meeting one, with three leaving. The dead weight of you weighing down their steps, the footprints pressing heavily into the earth.

Easy enough for him to follow, as he slings his gun free. 

Always said he did this shit for the love of the game.

But this time - he thinks - it might just be personal.

Despite being back among faces you knew, fear had been your only companion since the meeting in the forest. 

Hazy memories flicker through your mind. Being dragged, snippets of light and the heat of a fire. The bright sear of dawn, and the dry embrace of the desert again. 

Waking to the feeling of your arms being wrenched above your head. Coming to, hissing and spitting. Nails catching the face of one of them - Baine, you think - his fist cracking down hard against your cheek in retaliation.

Leaving you dazed, as your wrists were caught again - bound in place. A cruel curl of a lip, as they examined you like a brahmin.

“You look like a Wastelander”. It’s spit out, a wet mark against the floor, “We’ll get you back where you belong soon enough.”

You’re not sure how much time has passed. A day, maybe. Hunger gnaws at you - only a small sliver of comfort in the dried meat and fruit tossed your way. 

Axton, the head of the Reclaimers - those who were tasked with bringing people back - had grown up with you. At one time, was perhaps even more than that. A distant relation of the current Overseers, his blood too thinned out to be of use - but even he won’t look you in the eye. 

You both know how this will go, when you get back home. 

Hope drains from you, with each hour. Eating away at the little flicker of hope in your chest, wrapped tightly around your heart. 

Maybe he’d show. 

But despair clouded your thoughts, soon after. 

“You get hurt doing some stupid shit, and I’m leavin’ you behind.”

“You're a goddamn fool if you think I hadn’t been planning on turnin' you in the first chance I get."

Maybe he’d been truthful all along, and you hadn’t listened. Read into all those small moments, weaving them together until they had made something tangible.

The looks, stolen breaths and almost-careful touches. All fleeting, but you had caught them. Holding them close to your heart. 

But life isn’t like the holotapes you grew up, back when everything felt safe.

There aren’t cowboys anymore. No heroes on horses - with their silver spurs and a shining, golden badge. 

No one was coming for you. 

The footprints die out, as the bleached trees grow thin. 

Tall grass to packed dirt, dried by the sun. Rolling hills and then mountains, scraping against the horizon. The dipping sun casts him in a red light that bleeds to black at his ankles, his shadow stretching back long and lean behind him.

But these roads aren't wholly unknown to him. 

Spent time blowing through Junktown and The Hub, a couple dozen miles away. The memory hazy, but there weren't too many places folk could stay, once the sun went down and everything wild and unruly came crawling out.

A feeling in his gut has him stopping two miles down the road. A half-dug quarry, long abandoned even before the world went to hell. Threadbare railings and platforms held together with spit and a prayer, framing the rusted building that cuts into the stone walls. 

The tip of his boot taps a loose rock, sending it off the edge. Head cocked as he thinks, until he hears the faintest clatter a hundred feet below. 

Two-hundred years ago, he had stood on a ledge much like this. Valley of the Gun. The final shootout had his guns lost in the dust. Fist-fighting with the leader of the gang, until they both near tumbled off the edge together.

Honorable, in the way he had caught the man's hand. Tried to haul him up, but had to let go when a knife was pulled - keeping him the hero. A satisfying death that wasn't his fault, a way to keep his conscience. 

All movie tricks. Angles and the implication of falling, as the camera focused on his face that swam with regret. 

Comin' after a girl then, too. 

Thinks that's why the old memory has loosened in his mind. 

Funny how things can change, but the bones remain. How he's still drawn back to life he's left far behind. Even if his conscience was buried, a long time ago. 

Some things linger. He could go down. Take one of those ladders, work his way through the tunnels that are sure to wind through the limestone, and up through the back. 

But he's never much liked being underground. 

Another second of considering, before he's heading for the front door.

He used to like a script, but that was back in the day when the worst thing that could happen was a box-office bomb, not the hell he's been dragged through. 

A half-cocked plan already forming. Twisting that connection between them, his own abandoned contract. Get him through the front door and to the man in charge at least, and that might be all he needs. Let years of instinct take over, after that. 

Had already gotten a good look at a couple of them, when he first picked up the bounty. It had made him curious - why there was so much fuss, over so small a thing. Easy caps, he decided, when he had gotten a look at you. 

Picking up that their brutality had been learned from sharpening their teeth against a silver spoon. Hardy - compared to some Wastelanders - with their filling meals and their pristine weapons. 

But they sure as hell don't have the same grit as one.

Not much of anything, really, when compared to him.

The door opens with the push of his shoulder. Hand beneath the swirl of his coat, finger already fixed on the trigger. Not far in until he’s running into one of them - another Vaultie.

The man startles, wide-eyed when he sees him. Green, in his shades of blue and yellow. 

“Here ‘bout a job.” The Ghoul keeps his voice light, in spite of everything.

Knows they’re keeping you alive for someone else, as much as that makes his jaw clench. No need to go rushing in just yet. 

A flicker of recognition, as the man frowns, “How’d you find us?”

His head tilts, that smooth drawl slipping in, “Wouldn’t be much of a Bounty Hunter if I couldn’t, now, would I?”

The Vault Dweller’s eyes are fixed on his face, that familiar look of fear and disgust - dipping down to the pocket of his nose, the curling smile of yellowed teeth. 

It’s strange how foreign it feels, after the hours spent with you looking at him so differently. 

Maybe he’d been a fool, after all. 

Maybe it’s more than your tight cunt that he wants to bury himself in, to claim. Something soft, bitten back behind his teeth. Something he doesn’t even know if he has a name for, anymore.

Something he didn’t know he needed , until he had chased both it and you away. 

“We’ve already got her.” The man manages, after thinking it over, “Don’t think we need your services anymore.”

There’s another flash of teeth at the confirmation. 

“Agreement was to find her. And who do you think rustled her up?” His brow lifts, “Would’ve been half-way to New Reno by now, if I hadn’t herded her your way.”

That sharp edge creeping in, “Think my time’s worth a little somethin ’. Don’t you?”

It’s easy for the guard to leave that decision to someone else. Standing aside, to let him pass.

“Thank you kindly.” The Ghoul tips his hat, a swirl of his coat as he passes. 

Taking just enough steps past them, waiting until the man’s back turns. Spinning on his heel, after. 

The knife glints between his fingers as he twirls it. A hand pressing over the Vault Dweller’s mouth, before the blade sinks into their neck. 

Muffling the dying gurgle. A grunt as the Ghoul yanks the blade free - leaving the body crumpled in the shadows, as he winds deeper.

One down. 

Hold on, he thinks.

I’m coming.  

His whistle echoes in the chamber. 

Half old-world - a long-forgotten leitmotif that fuses with new notes of his own. A part to play until he doesn't, letting the Ghoul guide him. 

Down the half-lit hallway, the lights flickering overhead from the ancient generator. Everything picked clean like he figured it would be - every last piece of scrap ferreted away, leaving only dusty crates behind.

Still playing the part, as the low murmur of voices grows louder. Ears pricking up, listening for hers. Picking out at least three or four others from the layered hum.

A sneer, at the number. He’s faced worse odds. It’s in his favor really - take out as many fuckers as he can. Send bits and pieces of them back.

His intentions masked, an old habit, by the time he enters the warehouse. A wide steel grate floor, opening up to a second level below, scattered with old machinery. 

There’s a table. Cards littering the top - a luxury brought from the Vault, as they bet using caps. Couple Vault Dwellers and that Wasteland son of a bitch from the town. Four total, one lounging on a sleeping pack as if it’s just another night, and they weren’t bringing you to your death. 

It rankles him, teeth set on edge. 

A scrape of chair legs on the floor, at the drawling condescension of his voice. 

“Ain’t y’all a little old for a sleepover?”

Hands rest on holsters, but they don’t draw. The Ghoul focuses on one - a face he recognizes, the one who had sought him out.

The man’s legs spread, as if he’s got something worthwhile between them. The leader of this whole operation. Axton , or some shit like that - it hadn’t been worth his time to remember. 

“Believe you fellas got somethin’ of mine.” The Ghoul drawls, “I’m here to collect.”

There’s a pause at that. 

One of them, a right-hand man by the look of their padded leather armor - not a scratch on it - scowls. A face that tells another story. Pink marks start at their cheek, jagged lines that end at a thick neck. 

His eyes narrow at that, lip curling. A flicker of unease in his belly - fingers clenching where they rest against his hips, close enough to draw.

“You’re too late for payment, ghoul. Heard you were dragging your feet.” His head tilts, towards the Wastelander who had gone still, “We went and got her ourselves.”

The Ghoul grins - a fierce thing, with a flash of teeth. A lilt, in his voice. 

“Now, what makes you think I’m here for caps?”

It gives them pause. His question - the prospect of a ghoul showing up, unannounced.

“What else you here for?” Another grunts - eyes already back on his cards, a comfort in their numbers. 

“Think you know.”

“The girl?” Atmos laughs, and the sound is cruel, “Heard she split from you. Caught her after.”

A tilt of his head towards the armored man and the Wastelander. Taunting then, “Must not be that good, if you let her slip away. What, she get tired of looking at your ugly mug?”

If they only knew the kind of things he’d done to you. What you had done to him, right back. 

The Ghoul is only half-paying attention. Sticks and stones, all their insults falling on deaf ears. Too busy with eyes that flick over the top floor. Then down to the ground below.

Something flipping inside his guts, when he sees it. Cast in shadow near the base of the stairs, but his eyesight is keener than it’s ever been. 

Arms bound, the knot looped around the hook of an overturned crane. A raw, split mark - swollen and bruised flesh - on the curve of a smooth cheek. Just above where your teeth cut into a piece of cloth, tied tightly around to gag you. 

A tilt of your head, and then your eyes are meeting his. Round and blank with fear. Widening, when you see him. 

His girl.

Muscles string tight, eyes narrowed as his teeth clench. You’d paid for what you did, and he’d be there to return the favor. 

His gaze snaps back, and focuses. Whatever plan he had been working up burns, turning to ash. 

“Always heard that beauty was in the eye of the beholder.” The Ghoul’s tone is conversational - although his blood boils, scalding hot, “But if you wanna see an ugly fucker , well… you best look right there.”

There’s a nod of his head, towards the man in charge. As if on cue, their heads twist to look - just as he draws, and then fires. 

The Vault Dweller’s head caves in. Gore splattering against the blue of his suit. Barely a breath before his finger is tugging again, a bullet going through the chest of a second. 

Always too goddamn slow.  

Hesitant to take a life, even with their bravado. 

Something that molted from his skin with the rest of him, over a century ago. He’s already reaching for the gun holstered at his shoulder before return shots are fired. 

He can feel the flicker of something miss him, before he’s charging. Ducking under the swing of a knife, the muzzle pressed against ribs.

A hoarse shout that is drawn out by the ringing blast. The knife caught and sent spinning into the back of the Wastelander, heading towards the door. 

Flinching, as something slams into his shoulder, just shy of his collarbone, and out the other side. The turn of a head - an eye fixed on the last man standing.

Padded armor won’t do much to stop him. 

“That your handiwork?” The Ghoul growls, as his head tips towards you.

The man's finger twitches but he’s faster - a shot going into the meat of their thigh. Downing them as they scream, as the Ghoul saunters over to tug the hilt from where he’s buried it in the Wastlander’s back. 

It glints a gleaming red in the light, as he adjusts his grip. Eyeing the scripted tattoos that cross over the man’s knuckles - as they grip at their thigh, near-tenderized from the blast. 

Ones that had struck you. Could send them back, spelling out something obscene. A rough laugh at the thought. 

He’s got someone waiting for him. But, he knows from experience…

That this won’t take too long. 

In the hours since you parted, it’s only now that you can breathe.

For a long moment, you hadn’t dared believe. Eyes drawn to the noise above - the loud pitch of voices. 

One of them - rough and low - draws your attention. Everything dark from your angle, an ache as you had tried to see.

Knowing that shadow. The brim of his hat. 

The burn of his eyes, when they fixed on you. You could feel the fury in them, even from here. A muted sound of desperation from behind your gag, as you watched. 

The Ghoul shoots first - the second his eyes pull away, and it’s all over in a matter of moments. 

Your eyes closing at the sound of gunfire, of screaming - until it finally cuts short. Leaving the warehouse eerily silent, except for the clicking of spurs against metal. 

He crouches in front of you, now - and you can’t help the whine. So much trapped behind the thick binding of cloth. All you could do is tug at your bound wrists - neck craning as you tried to watch from below.

A force of nature. Bared teeth a quick draw. Again you’re forced to admit to yourself how lucky you were to still be standing, after your first meeting. 

He had blown through them like it was nothing. 

“Hold on a minute, honey.” That low tone is familiar, calming you as his fingers hook around the cloth. Leaving a smear of red against your jaw as he tugs the gag free - shucking his gloves after.

“Are you hurt?” It comes out ragged. Tongue heavy in your mouth, throat dry. Eyes scanning the dark leather of his coat - all that red , smeared across it, “Thought you got hit.”

He barks out a laugh, your chin trapped between thumb and forefinger, “That’s what you’re worried about?”

Something dark swirling across his features, as he tilts your head towards the light. His thumb pressing at the edge of your bruise, denting skin.

“They got you good, didn’t they?” He murmurs, and you smile through a wince, at the dull ache of pain.

“You got them.”

“Sure did,” It’s distracted, as he cuts at the binds, next. The rope fraying and then splitting, an ache in your shoulders when your arms finally lower. 

“Fuckin’ amateurs.” He mutters again, watching as you wince at the rubbed-raw skin at your wrists. The corners of his lips tipped down, lost in thought.

“Thought you would’ve liked seeing me all tied up.” It’s a weak thing. An attempt at humor, the ache in your heart at seeing him cut by the acidity of your last meeting.

He blinks. Comes back to himself, a hoarse hum of amusement. 

“Only when I’m doing it, sweetheart.” The Ghoul’s eyes meet yours then, a hint of a smirk with the tilt of his head. 

“Can think of a much better way of gagging you, too.”

There’s almost a softness to his tone. Just barely there, tinting the rough edges. Something like hope flutters - delicate, behind your ribs. 

“You… you came, for me.” You need the clarification. To hear him say it. That this isn’t some ruse, a way to take you directly to the source, “You’re not-”

There’s a sigh, as he fixes you with a long look. His head tipping towards the platform above, a lazy flick of his finger towards an arm that dangles from the ledge.

“Well that there man’s the one I got your contract from,” The Ghoul drawls, “Said I was to return what belonged to somebody else.”

Those eyes fixing on you again, “Seein’ as you’re not , and seein’ as that man is now indisposed…”

His words trail off - and you can’t help the small smile, as he finishes.

“I’m thinkin we’re square.”

The look you give him is soft. Admiring. You don’t know how he tracked you down, but he did. 

“You saved me.” It’s hushed, and at your tone his eyes pull from you. 

Fixing somewhere low, off to the side, as he crouches. Uncomfortable with the way you look at him. How you see him. Not used to it, not after so many years. 

You’re not able to resist. 

Muscles stringing stiff when you lean forward. Lips pressed against the leather of his cheek, fingers ghosting against his jaw. 

A huff then, teeth biting into his tongue with the shake of a head. His eyes dark, as you pull back, hovering. 

“Darlin’ if you’re going to be stealin’ a kiss, you best be doin’ it properly.” The Ghoul rasps, eyes flicking down to your mouth.

His head tips towards yours, but it’s your that meets his first. A little sound in your throat as your lips slot against his. Warm and insistent as his knees drop to press into the cement floor.

Tugging at you, as your fingers grasp at his collar. A hungry lick of his tongue against the seam of your lips as you whine, crushing your chest to his.

His fingers at your neck, your jaw. Angling your head, a rough groan as you part for him. Turning ravenous - wandering hands as your tongue slips against his. Panting breaths and a grinding of hips when he yanks you closer. 

“How many were there?” He hums, as you try to sneak a ragged breath.

The curve of a smile when you try to ignore him, a click of his tongue.

“I dunno,” Your mind is too foggy. Too focused on the hands that trace against your waist, “Four? No… maybe five?”

“You don’t seem too sure, sweetheart.” He does smile then, at the little mark between your eyebrows. Untangling himself - a hand reaching down to adjust himself, as he stands. 

“As much as I’d like to take you right here,” He husks, eyes dragging over you, “The last thing I need is a bullet in the ass.”

A tilt of his head, towards the open floor.

“Come on, cowpoke. Let’s do a sweep.”

the last (final, for real this time) part will be up in just a little bit! 💖 thank you so much for reading - this series has become so much to me, and every ask or comment or tag or reblog has absolutely meant the world 💕

[ginkgo-phyta]

heyy do you write for hotch? If yes can I request a fic with hotch falling asleep on reader's shoulder on the jet. like there are so many fics with reader sleeping on his shoulder and he's all soft about it and lets her. how would the bau react to see their tough boss just cuddle up with his girlfriend after a long case (it can be established relationship or before that too). thanku!

A/N: im screaming HAHA i LOVE THIS! i made this an established relationship hehe i hope you enjoy, my love! 

tagged spencer reid x reader because i want more people to see this teehee pls dont hate me i have spencer fics yall should read if you havent already but also you should still read this too

fluff, BAU!reader, gender-neutral reader, mention of cannon type violence/hostage situation/nothing explicit or detailed, 1.8k words

“Hey, you okay?” Your tired eyes peered up at Aaron as he neared your seat on the jet, tie loosened and top button of his shirt undone. He had just gotten off the phone with the section chief, who, undoubtedly, scolded him as if he were a wayward adolescent. Although the smile he offered you in response was tight lipped and less-than-giving, his eyes told a different tale. They softened as they met yours, shedding their cold and hard façade to reveal a weary truth, littered with hints of desperation. 

This case had been long and grueling, tensions insurmountably higher than usual with Erin Strauss breathing down Hotch’s neck, scrutinizing every decision he and the rest of the team made. You barely got a chance to talk to Aaron about how he was doing, always being waved off by the older man with “We can talk later,” or “It doesn’t matter right now, let’s focus on the case,”. Begrudgingly, you obliged, understanding there was no point in pushing him. It would only add to his stress. Although the case was solved, the end was arduous. The unsub had taken a hostage and, with the rest of the BAU’s input, the negotiation tactics went a different way than what Erin deemed appropriate. 

A heavy sigh parted Aaron’s lips as he slumped into his seat, you could practically see steam of stress billowing off of him. “It’s fine, everything’s fine.” He spoke quietly, eyes closed, but you could tell he didn’t believe it to be true. 

“Strauss tear you a new one?” Rossi piqued from across the table. 

The unit chief huffed out a short laugh. “Nothing out of the ordinary.” Rossi just nodded at this, turning his attention back to his notepad. Hotch looked to the rest of his team as they settled into their desired spots, “Let’s all get some rest, alright?” 

Everyone wordlessly nodded, not having to be told twice. 

Aaron lazily turned his head to you with a book in your lap, “You, too, Agent.” He gave you a playfully pointed look.

You breathed out a quiet chuckle, “I will, don’t worry.” You shut the book and turned to give your beloved undivided attention, gazing into his suddenly undecipherable, deep hickory eyes. “You wanna talk about it?” 

He gently shook his head, eyelids feeling heavy as his blinks became slower and slower, “At home,” he whispered, your stomach doing a somersault at the notion. Aaron tried to fight sleep for just a few seconds longer, wanting to just stare at you for a bit.

You faced him, head leaned against the headrest, smile so warm and endearing. The way you chuckled at him was like getting a glimpse of heaven. He couldn’t wait to go home and have you all to yourself. The feeling of your arms wrapped around him was his life raft in the tumultuous storm of his emotions. It was hard for him to express what he was feeling all the time, but with you around his walls of reinforced concrete tumbled. Aaron gave you a small, sleepy smile.

Before he could say anything else, you spoke up. “Sleep,” it was a simple command, and the usually stubborn man melted into his seat at your word. 

You took a couple minutes longer to watch him immediately fall into a deep slumber, his breaths becoming deeper and longer, lips parted ever-so-slightly, eyebrows twitching here and there. With a breathy laugh, you fought the urge to reach up and caress his face and move the little stray strands of hair off of his forehead, still aware that your coworkers could witness such an intimate moment. The two of you had begun dating five months ago, but it wasn’t until three months later that you broke the news to the team. 

It had been a long time coming; for quite a while everyone knew about the feelings you harbored for your boss- even Hotch himself knew. You didn’t do a very good job of hiding it, taking every opportunity you could to blithely flirt with him. Some might just assume you did so in a similar way to how Penelope and Derek toy with each other, but the profilers knew in the back of their minds it wasn’t the case. Aaron fought you at first, pleading with you to stop calling him “handsome”, “big man”, or even “honey” in one case. You never gave in, though, buckling down on your efforts upon seeing the way he would chuckle caught off guard and almost blush in many instances. Slowly yet surely, he gave in to your teases. You burrowed your way into the stoic man’s heart, creating a place you would die before giving up. Aaron didn’t even realize it was happening until his world came crashing down on him one fateful evening. 

A routine questioning of a suspect had led to you getting held hostage, the man whose house you went to turning out to be the unsub. This had happened many times before in the history of the BAU, but for some reason Aaron was more on edge. There was no covert entrance into the home and the unsub refused to open up a line of communication with the agents, leaving everyone in the dark wondering what the state of your wellbeing was. Aaron had begun pacing back and forth in the tent they had set up outside the house you were being held in, hands held to his head. 

“Hotch, it’s going to be okay.” Derek stepped forward, trying to calm his superior’s nerves. 

“He’s right, Aaron.” Rossi piped in. “We’ve dealt with this before, we can fix this.”   

“No,” Hotch murmured back, “This isn’t the same. It’s not the same.” His pacing didn’t let up. “This is my fault, I should have told someone to go, too. I could have prevented this.”

The others held unspoken conversations within the glances they shared. 

“Hotch-” Emily tried to speak up, to convince him that wasn’t the case.

“NO!” He yelled suddenly, stopping in his tracks. “You don’t understand, I can’t lose them!” His voice was heavy with despair, eyes wide in anguish.

All eyes were trained on him, his coworkers at loss for words at the confession. 

“I can’t lose them…” Aaron mumbled this himself before roughly pushing out of the tent.

You smiled to yourself as you took a last glance towards the sleeping man next to you before turning back to your book. Safe to say, you were incredibly shocked when Aaron showed up on your doorstep in the dark of the night all those months ago, soaked in the rain, kissing you with a sense of urgency before you could even ask him what he was doing there. You bit your lip at the memory, but shook it out of your head to try and focus in on the jumbled words swimming in your lap. From the get-go, the two of you decided you would remain extremely professional around your coworkers, and you did just that. You stopped your teasing, for the most part at least, and made sure to never initiate physical contact on the job. Anyone that didn’t already know you were in a relationship would never have guessed. The most you allowed yourselves was sitting next to one another on the jet, just like you were doing now. 

An unintelligible murmur and huff sounding from your side drew your short-lived attention away from the delicate pages in front of you. Just as you were about to look over to Aaron and make sure he was okay, a heavy weight thumped onto your shoulder. His head. You were taken aback, a giggle slipping through your lips before you could help it. Your fingers flew up to your mouth, trying to keep yourself quiet as you noticed him shift a bit, making himself more comfortable. Sure, you’d accidentally fallen against Hotch’s shoulder in your sleep a couple times before the two of you entered a relationship, but never in a million years did you expect him to do the same to you. On the jet. In front of everyone. Of course, he couldn’t control his actions in his sleep, you reasoned. And maybe you should gently shrug him off to help retain his authority around the teasing profilers. But, this time, you fought off that thinking and gave in to your instinct. He had been so tense and strung out this entire case, you knew he needed this.

To hell with professionalism. You thought with a devilish grin, happy in your resolution. And so, you gently closed your book and slid it onto the table in front of you, trying your best to move as little as possible before leaning your head against his own and closing your eyes. With the gentle hum of the jet engines and the comforting sounds of Aaron’s breathing, you were lulled into a wonderful slumber in no time.

“Oh my God,” Emily breathed out, garnering the attention of Spencer who rested in the same group of seats as her. He looked up at her with one eye from where he was slumped over in his window seat, trying to get some shut-eye. 

“Huh?” the sleepy doctor grumbled, pushing himself a bit more upright when he noticed Emily looking at something on the other side of the jet, her face a mixture of shock and glee. 

The raven-haired agent began slapping Derek’s shoulder, who sat peacefully next to her with his eyes closed and headphones over his ears. His eyes flew open, looking over to Emily with annoyance as he took off his headphones, “What! What!”    

Immediately Emily shushed him, “Look!” she whispered, hand flying wildly in the air, eyes still unmoving. 

Derek followed her line of sight the scene before him pulling a laugh of disbelief from his lungs. “Well, well, well…” 

Emily’s hands covered her mouth in astonishment. “JJ!” she whispered over to the blonde who lay curled up on the sofa next to them. “Ugh,” she groaned quietly, unable to wake her coworker. 

“I can’t believe this,” she whispered mostly to herself, settling back in her seat, garnering a shake of Morgan’s head.

The view of their hard-headed unit chief sleeping peacefully on the shoulder of his subordinate, the latter’s head resting sweetly back on his was suddenly blacked by the side of Rossi’s body as he stuck his arm out, trying to get the best angle to immortalize this moment on camera.

“Good for them,” Morgan grinned, his voice proudly announcing his amusement as he put his headphones back over his head.

“Rossi, you better send me that!” Emily spoke up just a little bit louder, the old man looking back and motioning his phone towards her in acknowledgement.

“What? What!?” Spencer whisper-yelled, unsuccessfully craning his head above and between the seats to get a glimpse of what all the hubbub was about, “What are you guys looking at!?”    

“Penelope’s gonna flip,” Emily mumbled to herself, a teasing smile playing on her face as she looked down at the picture Rossi sent her. Without a second thought, she saved the photo onto her phone. They’re never gonna live this down.     

A/N: i hope you liked this!! i had a fun time writing it ehehe hotch is such a dilf, like an ACTUAL dilf im not even attracted to fathers but hotch?? all day, every day, baby!

[theyluvlyss]

𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭...

...you'll be able to find each ghost boy (under their respective section, ofc lol) in the master list all with the same title :). I decided to just do them all one at a time to keep from having you wait any longer/forcing myself to pump them all out in one go/one long ass post lmao.

plus, to hopefully make it easier, I'll just tag you each time as the requester so you know, if that's okay lol♡.

𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬

《 ♡ 》 headcannons

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 :

while it's always fun to imagine (haha, get it💀) what it'd be like for him to be your best friend or your boyfriend, there's times when you yearn for that tension. that something in between that's more than a platonic relationship, but just short of being a lover. and I'm here to revive that feeling of what it'd be like for robin arellano to have a crush on you...

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 :

fem!reader x robin arellano - she/her/hers pronouns!

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞 :

70s-80s - the grabber doesn't exist

𝐓𝐖/𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 :

cursing - robin lowkey being a menace💀 - him also liking you tho - mentions of fighting/violence - manhandling,,, kind of?? (idk I personally wouldn't call it that, but- 😭✋🏽) - me focusing a little too much on the jealousy stuff lol whoops🧍🏽‍♀️...

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

I feel like he doesn't really "crush" on ppl. He finds people attractive and that's about as far as that's gonna go lmfao. If anything, he finds it fun to recognize/point out the difference between when people are conventionally/deemed by society's standards "attractive" vs when HE actually finds somebody to be a good looker to HIM (he wanna be different so bad🙄✋🏽).

But like I said, him finding someone hot doesn't really go anywhere. He doesn't do/say anything about, nor go out of his way to force things, especially when there's no prior connection/feelings there.

On that note, I feel like for him to have a crush on you (reader), two things would need to be an order; You'd have to attract him one way or another. Like, there's gotta be something about you that makes him have that, "Oh, she's fine as hell, I gotta talk to her." mindset towards you, even if he'd have yet to act on it. And, there's gotta be, like I said, a prior connection.

Or, you could get lucky, and a very specific set of circumstances could spark something up between y'all. He's not opposed to a meet-cute😻.

If y'all were already friends/close, he'd deny👏🏽deny👏🏽deny👏🏽 having feelings for so long. Not towards you, but towards himself. He would deadass be lying to himself about liking you romantically, even a little a bit, but unfortunately, it'd be one of those things that sneaks up on him one day and then just all comes crashing down into one existential crisis.

But even after accepting them, he'd STILL not bother to do anything about it - not bc he doesn't think he has a chance (well, maybe a little bit, but see if he'd tell anyone that), but also bc he doesn't want to ruin the friendship between y'all.

He'd hate to lose you just because he woke up "...on some bullshit, bro, I can't believe I like her..." one day, so he's more than likely to keep quiet about it.

Although, he can say that's what he's doing all he wants, his actions kind of prove otherwise; he might accidentally drop a subtle hint or two, and the stuff that he normally does that held the air of friendship and loyalty suddenly becomes a bit more,,, ✨️🧡💫💋, ykwim?

If he's walking with you, maybe crossing the street or something, he could care less about how far you are behind him if it meant getting to the nearest idk Burger King or whatever faster💀✋🏽. Or at school - sure, he might be on the look out for you if he's bored, or should he hear anyone tarnishing your name without you there to defend yourself on your own, shoot them a dirty look. And even just hanging out at the drive-in; it's viewed as more of a casual hangout than anything.

But let a crush develop some,,, let him become a little infatuated with you... Now, all of the sudden, crossing the street is a whole ordeal; checking for cars is routine now, and whether you like it or not, he's got a hand wrapped around your wrist and is tugging you along gently with an alertness that both amused and perplexed you. And at school, he's now taking any free time he may have to actually go looking for you instead of your paths crossing due to natural coincidence, just to act as though he had no time at all to waste with you, and would pester you at your locker whenever he did spot you.

And, as much as he hated the way his hands would clam up and how his heart would beat out of his chest and how he practically had to force himself not to look for your reaction to every single scene of the movie he picked, he was insistent on having a specific schedule for going out to the movies now. And no, he'd never, ever let you pay, even when you really should've and definitely could've.

But...

Say if he hadn't known you beforehand tho, and y'all met through some sort of meet-cute or whatever,,, him starting to like you would be a little easier of a process for him.

Something he wouldn't be so against because there's "nothing" to ruin or fuck up besides his chances with you, so now he can pretty much just focus on not screwing that up.

He's way quicker to drop hints (not saying he's any smoother with it, but that's not gonna stop him from doing it lmfao cuz who finna check him😗😹).

It's things like really obvious (almost bad) flirting, and teasing that isn't in the same way as he might do with his regular friends. If anything, he might use it as an excuse to always be touching you in some way - OMG TELL ME HE WOULDN'T BE A CHRONIC "You got something on your shirt..." JUST TO FLICK YOUR FACE TYPE OF PERSON LMFAO!!

You'd hate it and look at him like, "😐" and he'd just get a kick out of it, looking at you and laughing every single time like he's comedy fckn central💀.

Or if he's telling you a story - probably about the last time he beat someone up - he's using you as "the other guy", gently tapping you with ghost punches and moving you about by the shoulders when need be lmao. And even just in general, when he's not storytelling,,, give him ONE good reason to try and be physical, and he'll take it and SPRINT.

And if you notice that fact (there's no way you possibly couldn't), all he'll do is smirk at you and go, "It's fine, you like it😌."

Bro just slaps on an obnoxious and obscene amount of confidence and calls it a day, basically. Fake it 'til you make it type of thing, and it most definitely works (you wouldn't be reading this if it didn't🤭🤷🏽‍♀️). But of course, let it be known he'd never do anything to make you uncomfortable. I just imagine he's rather cocky in his abilities to woo someone if he really, really wanted it, and well... it's you, so...

He really, really wants you LMFAO😭. Anyways, back on track...

I feel like he's definitely the jealous type, but he won't do anything about it/won't get outta pocket unless your well-being is at stake. Like, if you were clearly uncomfy in a situation, or you specifically came to him on some, "This guy's bothering me..." type shit, oh, it's 0-100 rq. He's absolutely beating the shit out of that person (more so than when he's just in a regular fight).

Because of that, he'll definitely be scary dog privilege, like, I'm sorry, but,,, I feel like he's the type to - once he decides he's gunning for you - that's it. Not in a possessive way, just in the sense that he's totally made up his mind and, as much as he likes to maybe slap on a chill and nonchalant-type persona, he actually cares very deeply about things and people that have an affect on him.

He's also a go-getter, so with all of that in mind, it makes sense that even if you didn't reciprocate his feelings, he'd STILL make it known that he don't play about you lmfao. But even so, jealousy is also one of those things he just deny-deny-denies, will totally brush it off if you bring it up, even if you tease him for it.

But, he is a dork at the end of the day lmao tease him long enough and he'll eventually fold and just be like, "Nah it's just cuz I treasure you and I like you, like... would you rather I didn't care or just ignored it whenever a guy looked at you crazy? Exactly, hush, you love me😌✨️🧡." Once again, it's that seemingly blind confidence that definitely has you shaking your head a lot with a giggles escaping you, but YOU ALSO DON'T SAY NO/TELL HIM OTHERWSIE, SOOO😆🤭...!!

Honestly, with Robin being jealous, I feel like it's one of those things you dk/even realize he's feeling until it's "too late" - he's stalking towards someone you've complained about making you uncomfortable or he's already done what he needs to do, he's coming back to you, and after a short conversation with you pressing him about why and whatnot, it just hits you, and you're like, "Oh...Oh my god, you're jealous🤭..." and he's all "nO😡....."

"You lyin'?😆"

"...yeah😔..."

Although, jealously for you surprisingly isn't often. Like sure, girls dk how to back off, but not only are you both pretty secure, but he's also very reassuring. Both in speaking directly to you, telling you he doesn't really have eyes for them, AND towards the other people. He breaks hearts left and right, and it's highkey not even on purpose...

Bro just doesn't know how to let folks down easy - so much so that sometimes even YOU feel bad😭. Sometimes...

"You didn't have to say it to her like that...!"

"Wha-? But it's true! Should I have lied? Like..."

"No, but I'm just-! ... You need to learn to be more sensitive about these things😭..."

"Fym, I'm the most sensitive guy I know😙."

"...The kid whose nose you broke a month ago would say otherwise, but okay🙃."

But otherwise, if and when you're not scolding him, he finds your envy to be very endearing and validating. It lets him know that you are actually thinking about him in the romantic sense like he is you, and he just likes seeing you get all worked up lmfao. Something about your brows being furrowed and the heated look in your eyes reminds him of, well, himself! And he takes a little bit of pride in that, if he's being honest with himself, especially if it's a rare occurrence.

If you're normally this little sweetheart, and you're not exactly on the violent and/or temperamental side, in those moments where you might snap a little bit, he's DEFINITELY paying the most attnetion and he's DEFINITELY standing there like, 'Omgomgthat'shot-...' 💀😭.

If anything, I feel like these strong emotions from either one of you two could for sure be the gateway into him finding out/realizing you like him back...

Like, you'd definitely slip up one time, say something you weren't supposed to, or he'd reassure you way too much and let something slip, SOMETHING LIKE THAT, and either way, he finds out and he's like "Ohp🫢...AAAAH😃🫵🏽⁉️....YOU LIKE MEEEEE I KNEWWW ITTT🤪😘🫵🏽!!!"

He'd probably be too busy celebrating the fact he "...always knew and I'm always right about these things, blahblahblah..." while you stand there like, "🙄😒..." to remember there's actually supposed to be something following up after a whole ass love confession💀.

But, because you do, in fact, love him, I'm sure you'd be the one to fill in that gap, and short after, a very chaotic yet loving/meaningful relationship would ensue.

THAT BOY LOVESSS YOU, OKAAAY💋🧡✨️‼️‼️‼️

𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐥...

...as I was writing this one (well, adding onto what had already been written), the app glitched, and the whole thing deleted itself...

shit pmo so bad, I just didn't touch it again for like a whole month😭✋🏽. it's also part of the reason why it's shorter than I actually intended, so I apologize, but I hope all enjoy it regardless🙏🏽♡.

next up is vance, tho !!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 :

@in3rci4

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :

1,830 words

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 :

none :(

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: *Hiding in a bunker somewhere underground* hey guys haha, so... heres the next chapter, I couldn't leave you all hanging like that.... so uh yeah, iloveyouokaybyeenjoy <3

Chapter 85: Alys Rivers

Aemond did not take his hands off of you, looking at you with a wide smile upon his lips. A smile which you had not seen for so many years. A smile where his teeth were bared and lines appeared beside his eyes. He had buried his hand in your braids at the back of your head and kissed you. 

He poured adoration into you. 

Excitement. 

Love.

And most importantly, chased away any fears you had in that moment.  

It almost felt normal. 

Butterflies erupted in your stomach, and you could not even help the smile that lifted to your own cheeks. 

“We must celebrate.” Aemond declared, hand moving forward to touch your lower stomach fondly. 

And celebrate you did. 

Aemond dove his head between your thighs and brought you to your peak before he fucked himself gently into your folds. You had cried beneath him, both giggling like fools as you let the euphoria of the moment sweep you both away to a place that wasn’t there. 

To a place you weren’t trapped inside of.

To a place where you were both happy, both unbridled by the world. Both terribly, deeply, and madly in love. 

A little lie. 

A little game of pretend. 

A reprieve. 

Aemond had gone to the door of the chambers, cool expression back on his face as he told the knight to send word to the King and his family that you should all dine together. That there was good news that needed to be shared. 

And so, the both of you had gone to the Small Dining Hall, hand in hand, and sat at the table first, waiting for the rest of the Hightower’s, and closest members of the council to arrive and join the two of you. 

The three of you.

You were strung with anxiety, a nervousness that you could not squash. 

What would they say?

What would they do?

Would Aegon be mad?

The Greens would no doubt be elated for the news, another bolster to support their treaty. And yet why did you still have fear?

Your leg bounced beneath the table as you waited, Aemond watching you cooly, his well schooled mask carefully placed back over his face. You chewed at your bottom lip, hands wringing in your lap as you continued to glance at the doors behind you. 

“Zaldrītsos.” Aemond whispered, trying to calm your nerves, thumb pulling your lip from between your teeth.

The doors opened behind you and your leg immediately ceased its bounding, posture straightening in your chair as you laid your hands delicately in your lap. You did not turn as Otto Hightower and Alicent Hightower were announced to the two of you as they came around the intimate table to sit where they usually sat. 

“Mother.” Aemond bowed his head.

“Aemond.” She greeted him back. 

Otto was silent, only nodding his head at his grandson before leaning back in his chair, adjusting the Hand pin on his lapel as he kept his eye to the doors. 

One by one, Lord Jasper Wylde, Maester Orwyle, Jason Lannister, and then finally, the King himself entered the chambers, finding their respected seats, waiting for whatever news was to come. 

Aegon looked irritated, as though he had been pulled away from something of interest, or perhaps had an inkling of what was to be announced. After all, how could you not. The Prince and Princess, the treaty pact, have news to share with the council. 

Anyone but a fool could figure that out. 

But still, the announcement was needed, and Aemond was insistent upon it. 

You suspected he wanted to see Aegon’s reaction.

Another pissing contest between the two brothers.

The Lords spoke amongst themselves as they waited for the meal and announcement. Alicent said her prayer to the Seven, specifically focusing on the Mother and Maiden, before finishing with a flourish. 

She knew.

“Your Grace,” You turned to the Dowager Queen, her bright eyes watching you closely, “I remember you telling me that perhaps I could have an embroidery loom. I think I would much like to have it soon.” 

Alicent’s face softened, and she nodded, “I will have one of the maids bring it to your chambers.”

“Thank you.” You gave her a tight lipped smile.

Aegon cleared his throat loudly, flicking his fingers boredly, “So what’s this all about? Are we to wait for your big reveal all evening?”

Aemond reached forward, grasping his goblet, and you mirrored his action. Pushing up on his long legs he stood at the table, looking over all the Lords and his family as he held the goblet towards you.

“My wife and I bring good news to the Council, and to the King,” You noted Aemond did not say my King, or our King, “We have an heir.”

You looked across the table. 

Alicent beamed at her son, motherly pride on her face before she flicked her eyes to you, raising her cup in your direction. Otto Hightower raised his cup to the both of you, a quiet “Congratulations” on his tongue. The rest of the Lords followed suit, all raising their cups to you. 

However, Jason Lannister looked confused. 

Idiot. 

“Your heir in Harrenhal?” Aegon mocked, and you breathed deeply in through your nose. The table’s energy shifted.

Aemond was quiet, but you were quick to the whip. 

“No, our heir. I’m with child.” You smiled up at your husband fondly, hand coming to sit at your stomach in show. “Early days, but we wished to share the good news with you all.”

“Congratulations, Princess,” Alicent smiled at you softly, a true smile, one that she rarely ever gave, “Joyous news indeed.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Aegon hummed, “I wonder how the child will bare resemblance to its father. Time will tell.”

Your hand clenched against your robes tightly, “I hope that he has his fathers eyes.” You blinked up at Aemond.

“He?” Aegon remarked.

“Of course. A strong Prince. I will have to send word to my mother and father, perhaps the Queen will send an egg from the next clutch to put in his cradle.”

"Strong. Hm." Aegon hummed, smirk on his face.

You fought the urge to sneer at him.

Alicent beamed, “I am sure Queen Rhaenyra will be delighted by such news.”

You had a feeling that she would not. 

You nodded your head at the auburn haired woman, Aemond holding your hand gently. Jason Lannister offered congratulations, yet upon hearing your declaration of a son, his voice rose across the table as the rest of the Lords and King went back to their more relaxed chatter.

“A young Prince?.” He began, “And when should we expect a Princess?”

You gave a small huff of a laugh, still holding Aemond’s hand, “I can assure you that it would be soon after.” You gave a wide smile, and Jason returned it. 

“Excellent news then.” His gaze shifted to the One-Eyed Prince, “Congratulations, My Lord. You are a lucky man. A small piece of advice from a father to one soon to be, do not argue with a wife when pregnant, you will never win.”

Aemond hummed, “I rarely do.”

You smiled snidely at Aemond, “And for good reason. Best to remember that.”

“Hm.”

Aegon continued to stare at you for a time, before a smile wound its way on his face. He lifted his goblet towards you, then drank from it slowly, eyes still watching you over the rim of the cup.

It set you on edge.

The rest of the night, the Lords included you amongst discussion, a rare and almost confusing affair. Though now, you supposed they did not see you as a threat. You were pregnant. A brooding mare, and the breath that had long since been held at the beginning of the treaty had been released. This child would strengthen their position in the eyes of the realm. And most likely weaken yours. 

Good. 

Let them underestimate me. 

When you made your way back to your chambers, Aemond could scarcely keep his hands off of you. Stripping you bare as soon as you entered the chambers, laying you on the chaise as he praised you, kissing his way down your body in front of the fire, lingering hands cradling your stomach as he pressed kisses with care atop it. Your heart was in your throat, fluttering like a butterfly as you watched. 

It was tender. 

It was loving.

It was pure.

He brought you to your peak thrice that evening atop his tongue, whispering words of praise to you. 

“My perfect wife."

“My perfect thing."

“Going to be a perfect mother.”

“Can’t wait to see you swell.”

He even spent much attention to your breasts, lapping at your sensitive peaks, gently suckling them into his mouth as he groaned. It sent sparks shooting up and down your spine, your senses heightened by it all. 

By the time you made your way to bed, Aemond had spilt his seed inside of you, kissing at your neck and cheeks, before placing his lips atop your eyelids with chaste devotion.

The anxiety of the day had slipped away, and a blooming sense of joy had swelled inside your chest.

When you woke the next morning, it was to the unfamiliarity of cold sheets. Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you let your arm slide through the bed in search of your husband, confused as to why you had not woken in his arms as you usually did. When your hands reached nothing, you sat yourself up, head turning to see Aemond watching you, seated atop the chair beside the bed. 

You frowned at him, the chill of the chambers setting goosebumps rippling over your skin.

But something else was wrong.

Something was amiss.

Aemond did not smile at you, nor did he move to come back into bed. He did not even greet you a good morning. Instead, sitting still as he observed you. 

Your heart began to beat a little faster in your chest. You pulled the sheets close to your waist, completely bare in front of him. You let your hand rest against your stomach, hoping that the movement would calm whatever storm was passing through Aemond’s violet eye.

His gaze lowed to your stomach, and a small puff of air moved through his nose. Almost like a sigh.

“Come back to bed,” You pouted, “It’s cold.”

Why was he looking at me like that?

Something was wrong. 

Aemond didn’t move from his seat. Nor did he respond to your request, instead watching you with a hawklike stare. Shifting in the sheets you pulled them up to your shoulders, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

“Aemond, what’s wrong?” Your voice was quiet, and your throat seemed to begin to close in on itself. 

Was he angry?

What had you done?

What was the matter?

Aemond stood from his seat and moved to stand before the edge of the bed, towering over you as he looked down at your form amongst the plush, green sheets. Long fingers came forward to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, tingles running through your scalp at the contact. And yet he still did not answer you. 

“Aem?” You furrowed your brows at him, unsure, your hand reaching out to grasp his wrist. Aemond stilled his movement, eye flicking across your face as he took you in.

From your messed hair that tumbled down your back, to the fatigue that was still pressed into your face, to the small love bite that he had nipped just below your ear.

You watched as Aemond’s chest expanded.

“Aegon is sending me back to Harrenhal.” He spat through his teeth.

It was as though you had been doused in ice, cold water. Your grip tightened around his wrist as he looked at you from above. It wasn’t until that moment did you notice that Aemond wore his riding leathers. 

“What?” It came out as barely a whisper. 

Aemond breathed through his nose heavily as he repeated himself. 

“Aegon has commanded I fly to Harrenhal. With haste.”

You jerked your hand away from him, letting go of the grip you had on his wrist. Disgust and anger winding its way within. And the simmering rage that you had squashed coming alight again.

He was going back to Harrenhal. 

To see his whore, and his bastard.

After everything. 

After everything he still goes back to her. 

His Alys. 

You scoffed, ripping the sheets away from you as you stood from the bed, grabbing the robe beside it as you tugged it onto your body heavily, feeling your face heat with anger.

Aemond was to leave you alone in the Keep with Aegon. 

Alone with Aegon. 

Fear turned in your stomach. 

'Perhaps.'

“Fuck.” You gasped, feeling as though a hand had wrapped itself around your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. 

“Y/n.” Aemond whispered, walking around to your side of the bed.

“Don’t.” You snapped back at him, pulling the tie around your waist tightly as you gripped it for dear life, your knuckles cracking from the force. You could feel your nails digging into your palms. 

And you welcomed it.

Your teeth ground down against each other as you tried to steel yourself from lashing out at him. As you tried to desperately school your temper, but the waves continued to rise inside of you until the water overflowed. 

You spun on your heel, brows drawn, and sneered at the Prince, “You told me you would never leave me alone in this Keep again. You gave me your word.”

Aemond’s hand came to reach out and touch you, his face falling, “If I ha-“

“-Don’t touch me!” You growled, slapping his hand away from you before it could touch your flesh.

Aemond stilled, swallowing thickly as his jaw ticked. 

“You’re going back to your whore.” You scowled, feeling stupid that you could have ever even believed him. 

You had given him a chance, you thought that after Aegon, this could have been different. That he could be different. That he could change, be a good man and keep his word. But you were wrong. 

And you felt more betrayed in that moment than you ever had. More angry than you ever had. You felt like a fool. A pitiful fool.

Hope is a fools ally. 

And you had been just that. 

Aemond’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides as you looked up at him, letting him see your anger, your contempt.

Let him see. 

Let him see that any bridge that had been built was now lost. 

That he had tossed flames atop it. 

He did this.

“Aegon has commanded it.” He grit out, “I have little choice. I need to go as a Prince to attend to my duties.”

You laughed. 

Sincerely laughed.

His duties. 

But as the waves of anger kept coming, a hole opened and sucked the water down into it, and soon you tumbled down after, into fear. 

“You love her, don’t you? Don’t you?” You asked shakily, searching your uncles face for any sign of deception. Any sign or inkling of truth. To see how he would react.

Aemond frowned at you, taking another step forward, “No,” He said in disbelief, “I love you.”

You scoffed as you looked at him, feeling your chest ache, “I don’t believe you.”

The Prince’s face softened as he moved to step forward towards you again, hand coming to graze your shoulder, “Then let me show you.”

You blinked, feeling the weight of his palm on you, the heat of his skin atop the robe, the way his pupil expanded as he looked down at you, how his chest rose and feel sharply.

Disgust sank in your stomach.

“No.” You slapped his hand away from you, storming past him, trying to get space. Trying to collect yourself.

Incensed that you were stupid enough to think that he was capable of change.

“Zaldrītsos.”

You ignored him, flitting about the chambers in anger. Pacing about the length of the room as you felt it begin to shrink, the walls closing in on you. 

He was going back to her. 

And he was leaving you here with him.

“I can’t believe I fell for it.” You breathed, one hand tight against your stomach where the tie of the robe dug harsh into your skin, the other bawled into a tight fist at your side, “I am such a fool.”

Aemond walked towards you, almost stalking you quietly as he watched you continue to pace. 

You laughed humourlessly, “I am a stupid, stupid fool. I knew that hope was a fools ally, and yet I still let myself have hope in you.” You spun to face him, teeth bared as you snapped, whilst Aemond watched you with a cool face, “And here you are, ready to put your cock in the cunt of your whore, whilst your bed has only just been warmed by your wife!”

“Y/n-”

Rage burnt through your veins, and you did not contain it.

"You go to Harrenhal, do you not? You are to go to her and your bastard."

"Aegon is trying to-"

"You go to her," You sucked in a breath, "And I will never forgive you. You go to her, and I will take what is owed, fire and blood, I swear it. I swear to you Aemond, you go to her..." You left the empty threat in the air like smoke.

The Prince's posture stiffened, "You think to threaten me?"

"It is not a threat, it is a promise. I do not break my word as often as you. Unlike you, I stay true to it."

"The King commands me and I must go, you know this. He has mentioned treason in passing if I do not."

"Then perhaps I shall go to him when you leave."

Aemond's eye twitched, and his voice lowered, "Y/n-"

“No, Fuck you! Go to your whore and bastard.”

Aemond’s eye twitched as he watched your chest heave with angry breaths, “You question my honour?”

You laughed loudly, bringing a hand to your mouth before you dropped it back to your side as you looked up at him. His hair was pulled back away from his face, and the light of the early sun cast shadows across his cheeks and eyes.

He looked dangerous.

But you didn’t care.

“Honour? You’ve already fucked her. You fucked a child inside of her.” You jeered, “Do you deny it?”

He does not deny it. 

He does not deny anything.

Aemond took a steadying breath, battling his own anger poorly as he grit out a quiet ‘no’.

You laughed again, shaking your head to turn away from him, walking towards the chamber doors angrily, “No, I don’t question your honour.” You finally turned back towards him, watching as he stayed rooted to the spot, his chest suddenly still.

You were seething.

“I deny its mere existence.” You watched as Aemond’s gaze darkened, and it served to spur you further. 

Taking another step back towards him your snarled, “You and your brother are cut from the same cloth.”

You turned on your heel and ripped the door open, storming out the chambers in only a robe, not caring for who sees you. 

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

[bazpire]

People complain about fanon darlin being "overly aggressive" and stufff, but honestly, I understand your point from that reblog you made. They are traumatised and untrusting. They've been hurt so much, especially if you believe they had a shitty childhood; volence is all they know.

Not all trauma victims are sensitive and afraid. Sure, darlin probably is afraid, but they cope with what they know best. Violence, anger, etc. They have been hurt and betrayed. They never fit into the pack they grew up around. They've probably felt so lonely for most of their life, so angry at the way things turned out for them. Anger would almost be like a comfort to them. (?)

Honestly, it all depends on how you view them and their character and storyline, but in my eyes, they're reckless and violent from trauma. It's how their brain is wired. Sam has positively impacted them, definitely, but why do so many people ignore what led up to them being the way they are?

Their story, even if up to our imagination, is one I love no matter how many people complain about the storyline, their actions, etc. They are a human, a traumatised one. All they really ever wanted is to be loved, and instead, they got the opposite throughout their entire life - abuse and isolation. Judgement.

Sorry for my rant, haha. I saw your tags in that one reblog you made and I've been thinking about it since. I totally agree. Trauma victims aren't always kicked puppies. For example, victims who kill their abusers. Darlin wants to kill Quinn. They should get to.

yes yES YES

Ex-fucking-actly

Plus, people forget that Darlin isn't a character. They're a listener. At the end of the day, they're created for you to project yourself in them, to have your own view of them. So, if your view is more violent than others, that is absolutely alright.

Thanks for the ask, anon!

[vividachromatic]

Meant To Stay The Worst - Pt. 6

Alastor x Reader

Tags: ongoing, marriage, manipulation and toxic relationships, death, canon typical violence and language

Warnings / Note: This is a relatively dark / sad chapter and you obviously gotta be at least 16 (best case 18+) for Hazbin Hotel in general, so most warnings are canon-typical, but just ANOTHER warning, this chapter in particular talks about mental health issues, depression, suicide and death, so if you're sensitive about these topics, don't read. This is fiction and I don't necessarily condone what I write.

((<-Pt. 5))

"Miss L/N. This is Officer Sanford and Bailey. May we come in?"

Your entire body froze when you saw two police officers at your door.

You contemplated on what to do. Should you let them in? If they were here because of Alastor's... activities that wouldn't be smart.

Should you ask them if they had a search warrant? They had no right to go into the house without one.

But asking that would make you look suspicious... why were they here in the first place?

"Ma'am?" One of the officers asked you. And for some reason, the officers' faces looked sad.

Pitiful. But maybe you were just mistaken.

"Sure, of course..." you answered eventually and stepped aside to let them in.

There was an awkward silence for a minute and you decided to end it by playing the nice housewife. "Do any of the gentlemen want a cup of coffee?" You smiled.

The two men looked at each other and one of them nodded to the other like they were communicating telepathically. Your smile wavered.

"Yes. We would like that, Mrs L/N." The taller one answered.

Nervously you lead them to the coffee table in the living room and started preparing their beverages in the kitchen.

You weren't sure what they wanted, but you obviously only offered them coffee out of politeness, so them accepting it probably meant their visit would take longer. Right?

But at least they didn't seem hostile, or like they were trying to actively search the house.

You mentally prepared yourself to lie more than you ever did in your entire life.

After 3 minutes you handed the coffee to the two men, with optional milk and sugar cubes.

They thanked you and set down on your couch.

You sat down on the chair opposite them and nervously cleared your throat.

"Mrs. Y/N L/N, your husband is Mr. Alastor L/N, right?" One of the officers asked.

"Yes, he is..." You answered with an unsure smile.

"Do you know where he is right now?" The other one asked.

"He... is on a hunting trip right now. He is a hunter." You answered. Anxiously you looked at the clock on the wall behind the two officers. It was already half an hour past the time he was usually back, but that wasn't too uncommon. Did something happen?

Wait...

"Is he hurt?" You asked the officers, suddenly alarmed. Before this, you thought they may have come because they suspected Alastor to be the New Orleans' serial killer. But now you realize, that maybe something could have happened to him.

The two officers looked hesitant until the taller one decided to speak: "Mrs L/N, we found two dead bodies in the woods right next to your house last night. We assume that one of those two people might be your husband. Would you come with us to the police station to help us identify the body?"

Your eyes widened for a second at the mere thought that Alastor might be-

But that's impossible...

"I- I can, but... haha," laughing was extremely inappropriate in this situation, but you weren’t sure how else to react.

After all, there was no actual possibility that Alastor was dead.

Right?

The policemen just nodded and helped you to get to the police car. For the whole ride, you nervously tapped on your thigh, trying to get the thought that maybe something actually happened to him out of your head.

When you arrived at the station the two policemen warned you: the way the corpse looks right now isn't easy to handle for most people. It seems to have been torn apart by dogs according to them.

Regardless you chose to identify the person.

And to your disgust and horror,

It was actually Alastor.

The policemen noticed you crumbling down in front of them before you could even answer if it was really him or not.

They tried catching you before you hit the ground but were too late.

Having to see Alastor's lifeless body was a greater burden than you ever thought you had to endure.

When you sunk down and your knees hit the ground it didn't even hurt. In fact, it felt like nothing in your life was real anymore.

Your mind was constantly shifting between wanting to cry hysterically when you realized Alastor was actually dead and feeling completely empty.

You wanted to convince yourself that this could not possibly be real.

"Mrs L/N, we know this has to be really hard for you right now: but we want to ask if you would stay with us for another hour to answer some questions." One of the officers asked.

You didn't answer, trying to catch your breath but failing and breaking down over and over again.

One of the policemen sighed. "Ma'am, we have the suspicion that your husband may be... may have been the serial killer of New Orleans-"

He probably explained exactly why he came to that conclusion, but you weren’t sure. Your mind was completely fucked up at this point.

"...You have the right to have a lawyer,"

"..."

----------

The next couple of weeks were the most difficult you ever had to endure.

Not only did you have to accept the fact that Alastor, your husband and the love of your life was dead.

Which besides the emotional burden, meant planning his funeral, when you definitely weren't ready to.

Alastor's mother was heartbroken by the news of her son's death. You tried comforting her and let her move into your house to take care of her since she suddenly fell terribly ill.

She obviously heard the rumor of her son being a serial killer. But both of you decided not to talk about it.

Not until her last day - her illness was getting worse every day and the doctors told you she only had a couple of hours left.

"My dear, can you answer me this question honestly?" She asked you with a weak voice.

"I- of course..." you answered.

She sighed with a sad look on her face. "Is it true? What they're saying about my son, that he's a-" She didn't want to say the word but you understood.

Your eyes widened, unsure what to say. And she was a smart woman, she immediately knew the answer when she looked in your eyes.

Still, she waited for your response.

"I..." your whole body tensed up. You weren't sure how to respond to her. Should you tell her the truth? Would you want to know the truth in her place?

"...Of course not, Ma'am." You eventually answered.

She nodded and turned her head to look at the ceiling. A peaceful smile formed on her lips as she closed her eyes. "Of course not..." she whispered.

Those were her last words.

And as if you didn't have to go through enough misery and death in only the last couple of months in your life:

One of the family members of one of Alastor's 'victims' sued you for being an accessory after the fact.

And besides the stress and mental anguish of this whole situation, you started feeling physically unwell too after about three months.

You were in pain and had to throw up everyday and after a while it got so bad, your brother decided to stay with you.

And you were grateful for him. The two of you never spent much time together but you knew that deep down you always cared about each other.

And that was further proven by the fact, that your brother definitely wasn't encouraged to be meeting you right now.

Your reputation drastically sank when it was now known by practically everyone that your dead husband was most likely a serial-killer.

But your brother stayed with you and took care of you, even holding your hair back when you had to throw up.

After about a week or so, he hesitantly asked you if you might be pregnant.

You told him that that was impossible.

Even when that wasn't true - it was very possible. Alastor and you tried having a child for some time now.

But the thought that it actually worked right before he died was terrifying. So you convinced yourself it was impossible.

Your brother desperately tried cheering you up, and helped you talk to several lawyers, even when you personally had no motivation to defend your case.

Every lawyer you met tried convincing you that the only way you could get away with this was to play the dumb houswife, who didn't know about her husband's dark secret.

And you knew they were right, but you hated to stab Alastor in the back like this, even after his death.

The only reason you actually decided to play along, was when you found out you were actually pregnant.

Your and Alastor's mistakes should at least not affect your future child...

And when it was actually time for the trial you answered (almost) every question at least somewhat truthfully.

But the prosecutor was brutal with his questions. He asked you more and more about your personal life, trying to get you riled up on purpose until he finally asked you crucial questions:

And eventually, the exact thing the prosecutor wanted to happen, happened.

You slipped.

You mentioned something you shouldn't have known.

And of course, the prosecutor immediately fixated on that in his cross-examination.

And maybe you could have talked yourself out of this.

Maybe you could have.

But you didn't.

Even worse, when the prosecutor called you out on that specific detail you weren't supposed to know, you just laughed.

The crowd exchanged suspicious glances with each other, which only made the moment feel more surreal making you laugh even harder.

God...

In your defense, it was extremely difficult to continue acting with all the stares you were getting from some of the victim's family members.

"So what? All of them deserved it! All of your precious, innocent family members who were 'murdered in cold blood' deserved it and they were awful people! You," You pointed at the widow of that other famous radio star Alastor killed before he got famous, "Your kind and benevolent husband, who 'even donated to orphan children' was a pedophile and you know it! And he should have killed you, too!"

The entire crowd let out audible gasps at your declaration. Which made you even angrier, "Oh, so that is the part all of you are concerned about? Not the fact, that he is a literal- you know what? I give up. All of you are disgusting hypocrites and I can't wait until the day I'll finally see all of you in hell-"

You shouted at all of them even when the judge warned you that if you don't calm down he'll call the security. And your attorney practically begged you to shut up and asked the judge to pause the questioning to talk with you again.

The judge reluctantly agreed when he actually just wanted to get this over with and find you guilty after seeing your outburst.

When you and your attorney were alone in some office again, he just sat down and let out a big, frustrated sigh. Obviously, he was extremely disappointed by your outburst.

He calmly explained to you that after your display there is barely anything he can do for you anymore. Unless some kind of miracle was about to happen the judge would find you guilty.

'Crazy women' were never found innocent. And it didn't help that their judge was even more misogynistic than the average man was. You could have easily won this if you just played nice.

He explained that the most he could still do for you was to plead not guilty by reason of insanity, but in that case, you would have to go to a mental institution.

"But... what about my baby?" You asked him fearfully.

"Your- God, I'm sure they will let you carry out the pregnancy but you won't be able to keep it." He sighed.

You gritted your teeth in frustration and tears started to well up in your eyes.

Great, great, just perfect.

It didn't even feel like life wanted to punch you in the face anymore - it was straight-up beating the shit out of you.

And so the verdict ended up being like your attorney had promised. You were declared not guilty by reason of insanity and were to stay in a hospital until your child was born. After that, you had to stay in a mental asylum for at least 5 to 10 years, depending on your behavior.

And the following months were excruciating. You spent every day crying and making awful drawings with the single notepad and pencil, that were given to you.

And when your beautiful baby daughter was born, you were only allowed to see her once before she was taken from you.

You called her 'Ana' - a short version of 'Anabelle' the name of Alastor's mother.

Thankfully, she was at least not given to an orphanage, but to your brother to raise her. He promised to take good care of her and you decided to believe him. It's not like you had any better options anyway. (Also your brother was happy because it meant he didn't have to sleep with a woman to produce an heir.)

When you had to go to the mental asylum after, you just quietly cooperated. You didn't have any energy left to fight anyway.

It was awful there, obviously. But you managed to go through one year at least before the doctors decided to sign you up for a lobotomy.

A medical procedure where they would butcher the frontal lobes of your brain to 'fix you'. The chance of this actually succeeding and not either killing or disabling you for life was very low.

So you decided that this was the last fucking straw for you. You really tried going through these 5 to 10 years, but even a single year was so excruciatingly painful. Every single day was.

And if you had to go, you at least wanted it to be on your own terms.

So you wrote one last letter to your daughter before deciding on your plan.

You befriended a younger and more inexperienced nurse and convinced her to let you go on the balcony for five minutes. Normally patients weren't allowed to go there, but you gained her sympathy by saying it was your last wish before the lobotomy and since she knew the high risk of the surgery she felt guilty and let you.

The fresh air surrounded you completely for the first time in months.

You calmly walked to the edge of the balcony, your fingers touching the cold iron railings. Your eyes wandered down, seeing the stoney path on the ground at least 60 feet below.

This wouldn't be pretty, but it's not exactly like you had many options in a high-surveillance place like this.

"Ma'am, would you please step away from the railings?" The young nurse nervously cleared her throat behind you.

You turned around to face her and calmly leaned back to sit on the railing.

The nurse looked anxious and opened her mouth to speak, but you interrupted her. "Would you do me another favor, please?" You ask her with a small smile.

"I, well... What is it?" She looked unsure.

"I have a daughter, you know? Could you please give this letter to my brother, so he can give it to her when she's old enough?" You pulled out the letter and handed it to the nurse.

She accepted the letter in confusion. "Ma'am, why are you talking like this is a goodbye?"

You smiled and leaned back, letting go of the railings. The nurse's eyes widened and she held her hand out to grab you. But it was too late.

You remember falling. And suddenly you felt scared and regretted it.

And then nothing.

----------

Taglist:

@cryptidghostgirl @adeadreader @yourdoorisunlocked @spirit-of-the-hollow @droopingdatura @reikamasama @over-the-little-blue-house @wonderlandangelsposts @mysterypotatoink

(Thanks for your support! ♡)

Note: There is no canon name for Alastor's mother, so I came up with one!

+ Sorry for the sad chapter 😭 the future ones will play in hell, so they're much more fun lmao

Sooo, Al and Reader have a daughter? 🤔 (Obv it's gonna be a girl bc we have to continue Vivzie's legacy of girls with daddy issues)

Many possibilities for the future plot bc of that, huh? You think she's gonna be in heaven one day? Or in hell? If she'd be in hell, the three could become a powerful overlord family (like Carmilla's). And if she'd be in heaven, it may be a reason for the two of them to actually want to redeem themselves?

Or not! You can comment your opinions bc like always I'm open for suggestions and criticism!

See youuu!

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober 25

Prompt: Haunted House

Pairing: Jake Jensen (The Losers 2010) x f!reader

Warnings/tags: violence (brief!), blood/bleeding, I don't wanna give away too much plot haha, Jake being Jake, meet cute (if u really wanna call it that), clowns/zombies etc. mentioned in the haunted house

Summary: Jake begrudgingly takes his niece, Aimee, to the Haunted House at the fairground. Putting on a brave face is a lot harder than it looks when you don't like clowns.

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: I was originally going for a Bucky/Dean fic but when I thought up this scenario I couldn't resist making it Jake. I also couldn't find the name of his niece so we roll with little Aimee - Love, Grem x

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Putting on a brave face for a kid is always hard. Especially when that kid is your niece who fears nothing.

"I want to go in the Haunted House uncle Jake." Aimee huffed tugging at her uncle Jake Jensen's hand. Jake moved sluggishly against her tugging, eyeing the creepy house.

He didn't want to admit that he was scared. He wasn't scared of much but the actors in the oddly realistic make up jumping out at him made his heart rate spike and the colour drain from his face.

But he'd do anything for his niece.

One of the actors, a zombie, growled into his face; to which Aimee giggled and Jake mumbled a very brief excuse me as he inched past awkwardly. Once he was out of the actors way, he shivered. He glanced around at the other actors; there were some ghouls, more zombies and a werewolf. He sighed with relief as he and Aimee stepped into the house.

If there was one thing he hated more than zombies or ghouls it was clowns. And it looked like he had a lucky break.

Working the haunted house had its ups and downs.

The ups were scaring kids and adults (especially those who were trying especially hard to be brave) and the downs were assholes who either hit on you or hit you. It was one thing when it was a kid hitting you out of fear - another when it was a fully grown adult.

You'd managed to avoid two smacks to the face already and thought you must be on a winning streak.

You thought wrong.

You hear the cautious footsteps of the next group enter, and the screeches of terror as your co-workers jump out at the people. You, however, lie in wait until one member of the group was close enough to grab.

Your hand darts out from behind the curtain, pushing it away to reveal your terrifyingly ghoulish clown make up that would make Pennywise jealous.

"Heya, sweet cheeks!" You yell out as the curtain whips around you violently. Your eyes dart up and you realise it's not a child or teen, but a grown man, who looked positively petrified. Before you can even react or move out of his way, he screeches, instinctively throwing a punch and realising halfway through the motion that he should not punch actors in the face. Even though he attempted to withdraw, his fist still connected with a Rudolph-red nose with a comical honk.

"Oof," You doubled over clutching your face. Tears immediately streaming smearing your make up. It took every ounce of self control not to curse - you were still vaguely aware of children being near through the pain. You blink away tears as you straighten, the man before you flapping awkwardly and apologising. You pull your hands away to try and calm him down but for some reason, it only makes him worse.

"Oh my God!" He gasps. "You're bleeding!"

"What? No it's just make up." You give a shaky customer-service smile and a thumbs up, your eyes catching an awfully dark stain on your white gloves.

"Uncle Jake you hurt the clown ghost!" A little girl huffed. She couldn't be older than eight, maybe nine, but she was glaring up at her uncle with her hands on her hips. Something told you this happened often.

"I'm alright sweetie," you reassure her, but her uncle still looks flustered and is still apologising.

"You know they're just actors, right?" The girl continues, ignoring you. You had to admit, she was braver than most adults. Her uncle included. "We're going to get you some ice Miss Clown Ghost," the girl says firmly.

You try and fail to bite back a smile. The girl sighs and shakes her head at her uncle, offering her hand out to you. You raise an eyebrow, but concede when she wiggles her fingertips at you, urging you to take it. Her uncle reaches into his pocket and hands you a glasses-wipe sheepishly for your nose, which you gladly accept as you head to the first aid tent.

"My name's Aimee." She announces and then scowling up at her uncle, looking like a disapproving mother, huffs, "and this is my Uncle Jake."

"Nice to meet you, Aimee." you smile down at her, then offer a smile to Jake, who still seems embarrassed. "And you too. I'm Y/N."

Jake smiles a little back, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. "You too. I mean, nice to, you know, meet you too."

You too?

You snort at his repetition and then hiss in pain, making him flush redder than your nose. The evening air outside of the haunted house smelt like stale popcorn and cotton candy and there was more screams of joy than terror. Flashing multicoloured lights had you blinking rapidly to adjust - you'd been stuck inside a dimly lit house for about two hours, the assault of colour was making you wonder if you'd gotten a concussion. But when the bright, sterile lights of the first aid tent appear, you breathe a sigh of relief.

One of the attendants ushered the three of you to some chairs, inspecting your face and cleaning some of the blood away, giving Jake an unimpressed side glance. When you asked about ice, you were informed you were out of luck. The coolers had run out of ice already.

"Wait here," Jake says, jumping to his feet. He hurries off outside the tent, leaving you and Aimee together. You both shrug at each other.

"I'm sorry about him," Aimee says apologetically. "He's a bit of a loser. But I love him."

You crack a grin. You wouldn't go so far as to call Jake a loser but you supposed to an 8-year-old who witnessed him screeching that, loser was an apt description.

"It's alright." You shrug. "He's a dork but he seems sweet."

Aimee returns your grin but there's a hint of mischief glinting in her eyes. "He is. He needs a girlfriend, though. A cool one."

"Oh." You blink in surprise. "To... what? Cancel out the dorkiness?"

"Yup." Aimee nods, then smirks over at you swinging her legs from her chair. "You seem cool, Y/N."

"Uh huh," You raise an eyebrow at her, fighting back a giggle. You forgot how blunt kids could be. Aimee had the subtlety of a brick through a window and you couldn't help but admire her for it.

"Hey!" Jake re-appears in the tent, carrying three mixed slushes precariously. "Look what I found."

"Slush?" You and Aimee quiz at the same time.

Jake grins, handing you the first cup. The moment your hands wrap around the cold plastic you shiver, which is replaced by a static wave as Jake's finger brush yours. Your eyes flit up and meet his as he stands awkwardly with the two cups for himself and Aimee

"It's for your face." He says quietly. "It's better than not having anything."

You give him an appreciative smile and mumble your thanks, pressing the icy cup to your face, sighing dreamily at the numbing cold easing the pain in your nose. Jake hands off Aimee's cup to her to which she also thanks him for, before asking if she can go to the next tent over and try some of the fair games.

Jake looks between you and Aimee, clearly torn between watching his niece and ensuring you were okay and you could have sworn you felt your heart swell a little. However, as always, Aimee is the deciding factor.

"You hit her, you should stay with her." Aimee says coolly, indifferent to the flush of embarrassment that cross Jake's face. "I'll come back in ten minutes."

She runs out of the tent before Jake can argue with her and he sighs.

"She's one heck of a kid," You comment thickly from under your cup.

"Yeah." Jake takes a seat next to you, poking the bright blue slush aimlessly. You remove your cup from your nose and take a sip, the copious amounts of cold sugary liquid hydrating your throat.

"You know, they say nobody loves you when you're a clown," you comment looking out into the throngs of fair goers outside the tent over your slush.

"I thought it was everybody loves a clown?" Jake says, watching you over his own cup, taking a careful sip.

"I think I can safely say from my appearance," You circle your face with your index finger, which has tear-streaked lines in your make-up and dark crusted blood around your nose, as well as a big make-up free circle from where you'd been holding your slush. "That not everybody loves a clown."

Jake gives you sheepish smile. "Sorry."

"Stop apologising." You smile at him. "You've already bought me a slush. That's apology enough."

"I just... feel real bad." He groans, shooting you a pleading look. "Please let me do something else to make it up to you?"

You chuckle and ponder his suggestion for a moment. You rake your eyes over him, narrowing your eyes playfully as you study him. Even though he'd punched you in the face - he'd been very apologetic, gotten you to laugh and bought you a slush when there was no ice to be had. You had to also admit that he was pretty easy on the eyes too and Aimee seemed to think you were cool enough for her uncle to date.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" You ask suddenly, trying to sound as cool as you could.

"Um, nothing. I think. Why?"

"You can make it up to me by buying lunch." You say with a nonchalant shrug although you're smirking over your cup at him. Jake's cheeks go rosy and he bites back a boyish smile.

"I think I can do that."

Although he hated clowns, Jake had to admit that you were certainly the prettiest clown he'd ever met. Doubly so when you grinned at him, poking out a blue-stained tongue.

[tozettastone]

Hm, let me reword; are there characters from the series you love to write but have a comparatively different level of interest in how they're actually portrayed in the source material? I.e. the akatuski who were both introduced and killed early tend to be more of an echo of a character than something that reads as a person

Oh yeah, I see! Thank you for rephrasing this. Okay.

Well, characters like Kakuzu and Hidan (and actually a lot of the cast) are very flat¹ characters in canon. They are also very often flat characters in fanfiction, even when they are major characters — Kakuzu is the money guy, Hidan is the religion weirdo (often referred to as "the miser" and "the zealot," haha) and rarely is this expanded upon.

I write a bit about characters who are like this, and one of the things I like about it is the process of extrapolating a rounder character from the few characteristics of a one-dimensional villain, without just losing all of their villainy. They should still be bad guys. I like to write bad guys.

But, it's also hard for a character to be only a terrible horrible villain when you think a bit more about what they're like in their interpersonal relationships, what they care about, what their preferences are, and just... in regular situations. That's why my Kakuzu and Hidan tags on this blog (...and my kakuhida and hidakaku tags, too, which are interchangeable but somehow never consistent) are full of random comments about this kind of characterisation exercise.

I usually do this extrapolation by looking at characters' attitudes and behaviours in canon, inferring their motives, and then thinking about how those motives might be expanded on so they can be expressed in the broader setting! I have mixed success — sometimes people don't like my characterisation and, much more importantly, sometimes I look back on my characterisation and don't like it either (as one of my recent Deidara posts attests 💀).

In that vein, sometimes I do make villain characters like these seem a lot nicer than they are in canon, just by virtue of writing scenes where they, like, have to have a normal conversation...? But if you're trying to take a flat canon character and reverse engineer it into a rounder one, you have to kinda accept that they will be less, like, unalloyed one-note violence and evil, I guess. Like, at some point they are just going to have to eat lunch without having a little massacre first.

So... That's the comments I have about that process.

I think there are a lot of characters like this in Naruto because a lot of the broad cast can have pretty flat characters. I feel this way about everyone from Orochimaru to Tobirama to Hidan, hahaha. So I wouldn't necessarily single anyone out. I guess the least flat characters I write about would include characters like Sakura, who exhibit a more complex mix of personality traits, motives, desires, preferences, feelings, etc., in canon.

---

One footnote:

1. A quick comment on flatness vs roundness, for anyone who hasn't heard those terms used like this before. Characters, settings, "plot" events, and so on, are all elements of a story. A character is the element that delivers the impression of a "person" to the reader/viewer. They are usually successful to a greater or lesser degree.

One way of thinking about characters is that they can fall on a spectrum between "flat" and "round." When one calls a character "flat," it means that they don't have the depth of personality that makes them very good at being a "person." They are usually one-note and simple. "Round," characters, by contrast, are usually a bit deeper. They usually have complex motives and desires and give a more complete impression of personhood to the audience.

This doesn't mean flat characters are bad characters, it just means that they serve a purpose that doesn't require lingering over the complex mix of characteristics that depicting personhood might otherwise require.

[hisui-dreamer]

the edge of adventure

Pairing: Jade Leech x gn!reader

Synopsis: Hiking can be thrilling, but even more so when a certain eel is with you.

Tags: hiking, fluff, slight banter, reader has hair, bot proofread

Word count: 1k+

Notes: i went hiking on a trip by the seaside and of course, hiking reminds me of this slippery eel<3

Masterlist

As you approached the trailhead, the warm, golden light of the sun spilt over the landscape, casting the rolling hills and jagged cliffs in a soft glow. Jade was in his element, practically gleaming with excitement as he led you up the treacherous path.

He had invited you on this outing a few days ago, his voice infused with a bubbling enthusiasm that was so rare for him as he enthralled you with vivid descriptions of the rugged sea cliffs and the undulating hills, promising magnificent sights that would leave you spellbound. His words painted a picture of a spectacular adventure that would take you into uncharted territory. Having been rather exhausted by your errands at school and in need of a break, the thought of immersing yourself in nature was a balm to your frazzled nerves. The lure of the great outdoors, with its stunning vistas and vibrant colours, was too hard to resist. What better way to lift your spirits than the dazzling sky?

His tall, lean figure strode confidently ahead of you, a backpack slung over his broad shoulders. Every so often, he would glance back at you with an encouraging smile, lending you a hand where the steps were unsteady and slippery. You could tell he was elated to explore the rocky landscape and discover new wonders, his gaze scanning the rocks and cliffs with a childlike curiosity.

The salty air filled your lungs as you neared the top of the cliff, and the sound of crashing waves grew louder and more insistent, beckoning you closer to the cliff's edge. Jade's eyes lit up as he spotted an interesting patch of mushrooms growing by a tree, and he eagerly took out his camera to snap a few photos, before carefully harvesting the fungi.

Meanwhile, you were transfixed, gazing out at the endless expanse of cerulean sky and sparkling ocean. The sea cliff was a towering behemoth, standing high above the tumultuous waters below. The waves were a symphony of power and violence, rising up in towering peaks, their foamy white caps akin to glaciers reaching for the sky before crashing down onto the rocks below with incredible force. A frothy contrast to the cliff's rough and jagged surface, the sea foam clung to the rocks like delicate lace. It appeared as though nature had woven an intricate tapestry onto the jagged rocks, smoothing their sharp edges.

As you stood on the edge of the sea cliff, the raw power of the waves crashing against the rocks below filled your senses with a thrilling sense of danger and excitement. The wind whipped at your hair and clothes, as if taunting you to take one step too far.

"Are you sure you should leave your back open like that?" His words broke through your trance. "Someone cruel might just push you, you know." You turned around to see his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes glinting with a mix of playfulness and sadistic glee.

You couldn't help but laugh at his antics, his teasing only adding to the thrill of the moment, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. "Haha, you wouldn’t do that," you chuckled, calling his bluff.

His eyes widened in surprise before a wry smile spread across his face, revealing his sharp teeth that twinkled in the sunlight. "My, what confidence you have in me, dearest," he said, his words laced with a mix of amusement and challenge.

"I trust you," you said, your voice firm and steady. "And besides…" You took his hand and pressed it to your chest, feeling your heart beating strong and steady. "Even if you did, I'd just come back and haunt you. There's no way you're getting rid of me that easily!"

You tugged on his arm playfully, the force pushing you back a step. "Go on, I'd like to see you try," you said cheekily.

As the wind continued to whip around you, Jade's teasing demeanour suddenly melted away, replaced by profound affection.

He let out a soft sigh as he enveloped you in his embrace, his arms like a fortress around you, providing a sense of safety and protection. As he held you close, you could feel the steady thud of his heart against your chest, a rhythmic beat like the tide of the ocean.

"Mmm, my dear pearl," he murmured, his voice a smooth caress of love. "You truly are so endearing."

With those words, you felt a warm and comforting sensation spread through your chest, a strong sense of love and belonging that made your heart sing.

You leaned into Jade's touch, resting your head against his chest and breathing in his musky scent mixed with the freshness of the sea. As you closed your eyes, you felt his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back, a tender and soothing gesture that made you feel safe and loved.

With a gentle but firm movement, you pulled out of his embrace, your hands still clasped tightly together as you looked up at him with a bright and eager smile.

"Come on, Jade," you said enthusiastically. "We've still got so much more to see! The day is just getting started."

As you spoke, you noticed a fleeting hesitation in Jade's gaze, his eyes reflecting a reluctance to leave the comfort of your arms. You reached for his hand, fingers entwining with his, his gloves a barrier against the chill of the morning air, and tugged him forward, urging him to embrace the anticipation for the journey ahead.

Shaking your head fondly, you pressed a tender kiss to his cheek, the last remnants of his hesitation melting away like snowflakes in the spring sun under the warmth of your affection. His sigh was heavy, but it was a sigh of surrender, as his eyes once again alit with the thrill of exploration. "You're right," he said, a hint of eagerness creeping into his voice. "Let's get going."

Without another word, you resumed your journey down the path, the cool breeze tousling your hair as you gazed in wonder at the breathtaking scenery that surrounded you. The verdant foliage of the forest stretched out before you, dappled sunlight filtering through the leafy canopy overhead. And with him by your side, everything would only seem more enchanting and wondrous.

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[cherubispunk]

UP IN YOUR ARMS (CHAPTER ONE) -Noir!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: The Canary Club. Illicit. Underground. Dangerous too. But nowhere near as dangerous the affair you and Joel start there.

a note from Lucy: chapter one! I'm digging my own grave here. thats all im saying. i promise it is focused on joel and the reader later in the chapter. im just setting the scene for differnt relationships in the series.

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wc: 6969 (haha lol) Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! 1940s!au, no outbreak, no use of y/n, age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his 40s), smut. p in v sex, oral - f receiving, oral through panties, choking, groping, sexism, mentions of racism, touch starved joel, me being back on my bullshit, drinking, ,smoking, throwing fists because men are stoopid and cant talk things out, cheating on the readers part, but joel knows this and still fucks her like the horny bastad he is. *sigh*, use of pet names such as doll, cursing, ww2 references, an unhealthy relationship between reader and joel, mentions of blood, let me know if ive missed any warning out that should be tagged. 6969 words of unedited bullshit because im piss drunk and cant for the life of me edit.

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The jazz band was one of the finest groups in the city. ‘Only the finest for The Canary Club’, as Johnny had put it. 

Johnny Boy Finnick. 

Now he was a man. Played sports in college, muscular, strong arms that pinned you to the wall or mattress or table. Hands that shuffled playing cards with ease and had you screaming far after the night was over. Deep blue eyes and blonde hair that never fell out of place from its slicked back style. Not even after he had crushed someone's jaw under the weight of his pummeling, bloodlusting fist.  

Johnny made a name for himself bootlegging liquor, too young to fight in the first world war. Took over as The Boss of Boston. It’s how he got his name. Johnny Boy. Fresh faced but the heart of a ragged old man. Lost it all after the second world war, gained it back not long after. A killer with a bone deep yearning for blood, money, violence, and you. 

He sat in his pressed suit, legs parted as he leaned over to display his full flush to the table, flashing a killer smile when he collected the money off his right hand man and three more of his boys. You smiled from the bar, beads of your dress twinkling in the low light of the speakeasy, ready to waltz over with another old fashioned and drape yourself in his lap.

“Thanks, Henry.” You smiled at your oldest friend, taking the drink he had placed down in front of you on the bar. Henry was your age, 25. A boy from Hartford, Connecticut, grew up in Kansas, then moved here looking for work in a big city. Honest, hardworking. Sweeter than cherry pie. And his little brother Sam was just the cutest pip you'd ever seen. 

“No problem, Doll.” He teased, which deserved a roll of the eyes from you. 

“How many times have I asked you not to call me that?”

“This would make it…” he glanced up for a second, as if calculating within his mind, “one too many times to count.”

“Funny.” You gave him a quick bitter smile. All in good fun, clearly, for he took no offence. He just shot you a smile, running a clean rag over the bartop, collecting two glasses and wiping the rings of condensation they left upon maplewood. 

“Your man looks thirsty. Might wanna take him his drink now. Before he gets the wrong idea about me talking to ya.” You sighed, craning your head slightly to look back at Johnny who scanned the place with a scowl. It made your skin crawl the thought of his temper snapping again. Despite it, you left Henry with a playful wink his way before swanning back over, placing Johnny’s drink in front of him and a vermillon kiss to his cheek. 

Johnny sneered at the affection, wiping your lipstick stain from his cheek. All the confidence you had fell to the floor and shattered miserably. Liquid courage sloshed on the cured wood floor.

“Fuck’s sake, Doll. What you do that for?” He demanded of you, the disgust in his cruel cerulean eyes sending a chilling, agonising jolt down your spine. 

“Sorry, Johnny.” You shied away, folded your hands together, eyes on the floor.

“Ain't you gotta powder your nose or something? Go on. Piss off.” 

He was right. You’d be on soon. Drenched in the spotlight. Under the scrutinising, side cramping glare of everyone's eye. You could do with the quiet. So you shuffled off to your dressing room without a word more, holding back tears with your breath. 

In the mirror, you mourned the girl you were. Mourned the life you had before it all turned upside down. Mourned the man you fell in love with. And the monster you had no choice but to stay with. 

—

Joel was fuming. If you touched his skin you'd reel back with a scorched yelp because his blood ran hot, fast and thick under his flesh. Trust Tommy to catch himself in the web of underground crime. Always a joiner. Always a deserter too when things got heated. And who was left to untangle him from its intricate, venom snared weave? Joel ‘Gubbins’ Miller. He might as well have ‘mother to my brother’ branded on his forehead. Because that's what he was now. 

The war ended four years ago and ever since Tommy had been searching for his purpose. Preached about it round the dinner table in their grimy, mildew inhabited apartment like a preacher would his sermon. And every time it set Joel’s teeth on edge. Because he knew what came after the downfall. The pickup. 

Now, however, Joel was determined to nip this lunacy in the bud. Tear it up from the soil by the new roots. 

The Canary Club was one of the few remaining speakeasies around in Boston. To a cop it was practically a ghost of an establishment. Might as well not be there. But to a man like Joel, whose brother never stopped babbling on about the next best thing he had cooking for himself, it was as easy as pie.  

A shroud of cloud hung just above Boston’s looming buildings, teaming with the early moon to create a murky gloom over the dim city’s sin. It seemed to fill the hollow, smoggy air as they cast dark, taut shadows over the slick, grimy roads. The sky threatened rain for the third day in a row. A place that reeked of underground crime, drug rings and watered down, once bootlegged alcohol, laced with what one can only assume to be illegal too. All of that was washed down with the constant sour smell of new rain upon dirty tarmac. A city plagued and tarnished by its own rejects.The promise of work bought them in. But the lifestyle spat them back out. Chewed up and ruined by their own humanising hope.

He and his brother came in search of work. They were getting nowhere down south in Texas. On the dole and barely able to afford a loaf of bread between the two of them. Even their own mother hardly recognised her boys after the war. Said they were empty shells of men. Husks of the boys she raised. Killers. 

The woman was a pacifist at heart. And it was a trait that Joel not only saw as weak, but typical of women. Or that's what his father had socialised him into thinking. He didn't know where his father’s ideals ended and his started. As the days went by he saw more of the violence his father harboured in himself. Grimaced at the lug in the looking glass. 

Joel was no pacifist. But he didn't storm through the doors either. No gun was in hand ready to send people screaming bloody murder. That was stupid. A mistake that he knew could wind him up on the concrete in the flooded gulley with a bullet in his head where blood and water could finally mix. Instead he stole in quietly in the ambience of playing cards and a Jazz band, ordered himself a drink, and sat at the far corner of the bar where it was dimly lit. Just enough for him to see his drink and the room, but his face still remained shadowed. 

While he sipped in ponder, he took the chance to people watch. Scan the patrons for any uncanny resemblance of dear Tommy. But nothing. He seemed distracted by the careful and steady hand that polished glass after glass, though each of them were spotless before touching the rag. 

A pointless task. Some may say sisyphean. But the boy doing so knew when eyes were on him. It was a very rare occurrence if not related to his race. People of any darker colour were ogled often in these parts despite it being more accepted within the north of America. There was still divide and segregation. However, this new patron wasn't looking for Henry’s skin colour, rather contemplating how on earth a boy such as him had ended up in such a place. What connection he had to the gang. Was he like Tommy? Roped in at the side of the side of the road and choking on his remaining pride. Or in a sticky financial situation? All these questions seemed to circle like the rag in the crystal glass Henry held. 

“What’s your name, kid?” Joel asked him with an ex-smoker's voice, brow dark in the shadow. The boy looked up, eyes youthful, but they'd seen things no man should have to. 

“Henry.” He said after a beat, quick to refill Joel’s glass when it was empty besides a drop circled thin and amber in the bottom. “Yours?” Joel lifted his head, taking a sip before placing his glass back on the bartop in furrowed brow contemplation. 

“Joel.” He leaned forward on his forearms, haunched over the bar, before looking around again. “Whatcha doin’ here, Henry?” 

Henry laughed slightly, looking down at his feet before back in Joel's eyes. And what he was met with was the hollow ache of a man scarred by war. Henry’s face fell flat. 

“Working.” 

“No…I mean in Boston.”

Henry cleared his throat at the sudden, and even brash way Joel approached his question. So much that it took him a second to frown and then reply. 

“Came from Kansas. Hard for a black kid to find honest work there. Especially with a family to look out for.” His words were solemn and reflected a truth Joel knew all too well growing up down south. Even if he never lived it in his own white skin.

“You look a little young to have a kid.” 

“I don’t. I got a brother.” Joel nodded as he listened, waiting for him to go on. Which he did after a beat of silence. “Bright kid. Bright future too. He’s deaf though. Got a lot stacked against him in this world. Mom can't bring in enough to fund education for ‘im. So I stepped up.”

“No Daddy?” Joel asked and Henry shook his head. “How’d you end up here then?”

“A girl.” The look Joel gave Henry was sceptical. But the young boy was soon to put a stop to it all. “Not a girlfriend. Just a girl. We grew up in the same building. She moved up north for a life and I followed a few months later. She met a guy. A wealthy guy. And she wrote to me often of how swell Boston had been for her.”

Joel wasn't the questioning type. Neither one to beat around the bush. But Henry intrigued him. Reminded him a lot of Sarah. The challenge she had faced with the colour of her skin that he, as a white man, would never understand. He felt a guilt about it every day that flared up in the dark of night before his eyes closed for restless and futile sleep. “And this guy?”

“Him.” Henry nodded subtly over to the table of men playing cards. Poker. A game Joel knew well in the frontline and in Egypt where he fought. Him and a few others often huddled together in their own game. Nothing but the last pair of intact socks to bet on, or a single cigarette to get them through the night. Joel quit smoking the moment he got back. Knew it was something that made him unpredictable and jittery in the best of situations. “Johnny Boy Finnick. A big name in these parts.” 

Joel followed Henry’s gaze, but his attention was snagged by the unmistakable head of dark curled hair facing away from him. He knew his brother anywhere and his blood began to boil as he threw back his second drink and slammed the empty glass on the bartop. 

“Hey, man-” Henry tried, shoulders straining as he stood to attention. Joel didn't pay him any mind. Merely wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before his bar stool sharied upon the varnished wood floor. He cared not for the noise. Only the feeling he would get once his closed fist met the bone on the bridge of Tommy’s nose. 

Trumpets flailed to a stop and drums failed mid blow. The room fell silent after a chorus of gasps. 

He loved his brother. Deeply. So much it caused a chasm of a rib cracking hole in his chest every time Tommy slipped up. But he saw red now it all caught up behind his lids that blinked once. That split second of not seeing and before he had a chance to second guess, he was gripping the back of tommy;s collar and wrenching him up to his feet to deliver a shiner to the face. 

Tommy staggered back, and everyone at his table stood up with the intention to harm. Yet no one but the brawling brothers fought. As he gained his footing again, he also gained his senses, recognising Joel anywhere. 

“Joel, what the fu-” He was hardly able to finish before another shooting pain split his bottom lip open and Tommy’s mouth was filled with the taste of his own bitter blood. Blood he and Joel shared and were now shedding in a futile fight of nothing but testosterone. That was enough to send the same foul blow to his kin. Joel winced, knowing the crescent of a bruise that would bloom on his cheekbone overnight. One of Tommy’s many rings sliced his skin. He felt warmth in crimson dribble from a fresh flesh wound. 

“Hey!” One loud and bellowing voice that had the power to command a whole unit of men boomed out before neither Joel or Tommy had the chance to throw another fist. It was for the better. Any more and Joel’s knuckles would have bruised purple. A colour of shame. 

It was Johnny. And his face was stoic as he stared each brother down with a burning gaze that had even Joel’s hairs stood on end at the nape of his neck. Like an army stood to attention before the first charge. Except he didn't move. Joel knew now where he stood in the food chain of this speakeasy. And it was right at the very bottom. “You!” He pointed at Tommy. Go clean yourself up.” And Tommy went as pale as a funeral sheet before nodding meekly. His face melted from shock to shame in the blink of Joel’s very eye before he grumbled something under his breath and passed Joel with a sharp clip to his shoulder. 

It's his turn now. 

At this point you'd come out to see what the commotion was for. The walls, while thick upstairs in the printer's press, were thin in the basement. And you;d heard silence and the spit of a man as his blood splattered with spit on the floor in the doorway. 

“The fuck do you think you’re doin throwin’ fists in my god damned club for?!” He roared. And Joel had to take the duration of both inhale and exhale to get his lips and tongue to work. But the scowl on his face said it all. “Huh?!” Jonny’s nostrils flared like a spanish thoroughbred bulls’. 

“That’s my brother you got workin’ for ya. I ain't havin’ him in some shady drug ring you got goin in. I aint!” 

Jonnly was no stupid man. Hr was smart. Quick minded and knew a man with balls. But Joel also knew very little. So this one time, he took the approach of calmness, and used his usual lying tongue for truth. Any other time it would she forked like Lucifer's serpent form. But now he was a man of coolness. “Right.” Johnny nodded at him, his tone was one that could soothe a ravenous bear. But with an edge as sharp as a knife. So sharp it could slice skin in one swift swoop. “Sit down.” He commanded calmly. “Let’s get you a drink.” 

With a wave of his hand a cha was pulled out. Two heavy handed brutes shoving Joel down into a chair, an old fashioned presented to him by Henry in front of him on the maplewood table. Then Johnny addressed the room gently. Set its patrons at ease. The music played its jazzy, jolly tune once more. People spoke again.And Johnny took his seat opposite Joel. 

“Look here…” The gangster waited for Joel to give him his name. Which he did. “Joel, I appreciate a strong swing as much as the next guy. But I don't appreciate it in my establishment.” Joel nodded in understanding. His temper ashamed him. How it ran hot under his skin. Fizzled white when provoked until he saw red in rage and swung. Never blindly though. He wasn't a loose cannon like the  broken soldier stereotype enforced. Just a fractured man. 

“You’re a soldier aint ya?” “Was.” Joel said gruffly. Curtly and he brewed a stare across from Johnny.

“Oh, nah.” Johnny shook his head, swirling his drink in the crystal glass, “Once a brother in arms, always a brother in arms. The war sticks with ya. You’re a soldier.” “Fine. Yeah, I'm a soldier.” 

“I know the war. I served like you. Left a boy and came back a shell of a man. Now look at me.” Joel took a moment to calculate his motive here. Johnny’s arms stretched wide with a smirk of pure pride as he gestured to the heart of his Boston crime empire. “I got money. I got birds.” He held up his glass to Joel, “I got liquor.” then leaned forward and spoke in a grave tone, "What you got?” 

Joel swallowed harshly, unable to answer because he had nothing in reality. 

“You got a job?” He shook his head, exhaling through his nose. “No.”

“Figured. Hard finding work when all the women are competent enough to do it themselves. Fight for your country. End up on the streets. You don't die a hero like you thought you would. No one knows your name.” He scoffed, holding fingers up in air quotes around competent. It left a bitter taste of disgust in Joel’s mouth as the father of a daughter. Curled the edges of his tongue distastefully. Made him kiss his teeth to hold back the insult. “Well, people know my name.” Johnny paused again, the air grew thick between them and smouldered on their shoulders. He was squinting at Joel opposite him, sizing him up. Joel was rugged. A strong build and most likely a strong character too. Something Johnny could always do with having in abundance. And so when the devil's own smirk curled at his lip, Joel felt a question brewing at the very tip of his tongue. One that would change his life for better or worse. Regardless of it he declined or accepted. “And they could know yours too.”

Joel didn't want to admit it for the sake of his crumbling pride, but the man had it all. Even a good five years his junior, the man made a living for himself. Picked himself up from the dirt and used bloodshed and bodies for the foundations. 

“I could use a guy like you–”

“No.” Joel put his offer down flat before it had the chance to meet the air. 

“Hear me out.” He said calmly, and held up a hand, “A roof over your head. A steady income. A little extra dough in ya pocket?” Johnny rubbed his thumb and index finger together in the older man's face. An action to which Joel’s nostrils flared. It was embarrassing to even mull over. “Come on,” Johnny smirked. “Give it a go.” 

The southerner’s lips pursed, as if he was thinking it over. Which he was. But to what lengths would he go? Sure, Joel was conditioned in a short few months to kill. He was good at it. Mowed down men on the frontline like clockwork. And his trigger finger twitched at the thought of holding that power once more. But that didn't mean he was a man without morals. The men’s blood he;d coat his hands in had families. They were someone's son. Probably someone's husband or father. Joel knew the hollow ache loss left. The imprint of a shadow it left. The chasm ripped in your chest. Loss felt like an agonising, deep, helpless pit. But here was Johnny, throwing him a rope 

“You know, you’re right. This ain't the time to talk this over.” Johnny held his hands up and leaned back in his seat before they clapped back in his lap. Now you were at Johnny’s side once more. But the figure of Joel in his chair had something jumping in your bones. Tongue curling to taste his very words.  “Dollface here will patch you up.” 

You raised a brow, giving the two of them a dirty look. “Excuse me? Do I look like a nurse?” You shut up when Johnny glared. Swallowed your pride, and sighed inwardly. You both hated and loved the power he held over you. As much as you despised it at times, Johnny had your being wrapped around his finger like a puppeteer holds his strings. And tightly. You felt his tug at the strain in your limbs. 

“And you come back here tomorrow. We’ll talk in my office over a drink and a cigar. A good fucking drink.” 

—

Joel swallowed harshly when he saw you. Eyes, wide and decorated by dark mascara lashes, white liner on lower waterlines, face of a doll like Johnny’s nickname for you suggested. The red lipstick you had re-applied moments prior was glossy, inviting him to stumble over velvet words he would hear you speak. Lean closer so the blood red could graze the shell of his ear while you would whisper a dirty joke at him. 

He followed as you led him down a corridor off to the other side of the bar. Your dress seemed fit for hypnotising him into your bidding. Surely you were a siren who climbed the strats of a pier of the east coast and arrived here. Something about the beauty you wielded was not the everyday sort. It was the type you see women bend over backwards to achieve even a glimmer of for their man who came back after work. He could see himself now. Loosening his tie, hanging up his coat and hat. Leaving his briefcase and sanity at the door to see you in a pinafore and pin curls. Pretty gingham dress. He’d sit at the table and either be presented by you or a meal for his satiation. He’d prefer to devour the sweetness between your legs. 

Your hand in front of his face had his attention now. Fingers snapping. Nails manicured and painted the same shade as your lipstick. 

“Hey, you listening?” You asked, face set into displeasure. Joel straightened as he cleared his throat.

“What?” His tone was gruff and he mirrored your expression to you. His southern accent catching you off guard, but is intriguing. 

“I said sit down.” 

Joel looked over at the chair set at a vanity mirror you gestured to with an extended arm. The second time he had been asked to be seated. The second time he obeyed. 

You took your time to wet a washcloth in the small basin in the corner with warm water. Took the bottle of whiskey you stashed last week from the bottom of a rickety chest of drawers. Joel watched you in the mirror, eyes narrowed a fraction to make sure you were of no threat to him. He knew he could take you easily. In more ways than one. The power imbalance had his length twitching in his trousers. 

Your hands weren't gentle as you sat on the vanity between his legs. You took his stubbled chin in your grasp and jerked his head up into the light, tilting it to take a closer look at the gash. 

“Stay still.” You said curtly, holding the rag to the opening of the bottle and wetting it. You then pressed it over the pad of your finger. The initial touch made his teeth bare at you and a hiss to escape his mouth. His large wrist enclosing around yours to make you stop. “I said,” And you yanked your wrist from his hold, “stay still.” 

He did as he was told again. Silence setting his between the odd hiss from him and twitch of muscle under weathered skin. The crows feet at the side of his eyes were old. He clearly had lost his smile to something in the past. But you didn't ask, only wondered as you wiped the dried blood clean from his wound. “Fuckin grown man and you cant take a little sting of a cut.” You mumbled under your breath to yourself in amusement. Followed by a small huff of dry laugh.

“Maybe if you weren't digging your fingers into a fresh bruise I wouldn’t be wincin’.” You shot him a look and let go.

“All done.” And you held up your hands for good measure. 

“What are you doing here anyway?” You asked, tossing the rag aside and crossing your arms. He reached for the whiskey and took a large gulp, pursing his lips at the slow burn in the back of his throat. 

“None of your business.” 

“What’s your name?”

“You know my name.” He stated lowly. He was right. But you found a sick satisfaction in having any man you liked bend to your will. Answer any question you so pleased to hear the answer to. 

His bones groaned as he stood up from the chair. Your coat draped over the back of it fell to the floor and you swiftly got up to swipe it from the floor and hand it on the hook on the back of the door before pressing your back to it and facing him. Blocking his exit.  “Move.”

“Tell me your name.” You crossed your arms, jutting your chin up at him. 

“Don’t make me move you, princess.”

“Tell me your name.” 

Joel bit his tongue, the vein in his neck starting to pulse visibly under his skin that once again went hot. 

“Why do you wanna know?”

“Because I’m nosy.” You smiled, sarcastic and saccharine. “And i want to know the name i’ll be moaning tonight as i touch myself under the covers.” 

“Fuckin-” His jaw ticked, nostrils flared in his disdain. You kept your smile as he pinched the bridge of his nose with a small guttural noise from the back of his throat. A headache was starting to coil behind the strain of his eyes. “Joel.” And he looked back up at you. It still wasn't enough “Miller.” Your smile was genuine this time, just as sweet. You uncrossed your arms, standing up straight from the door to hold out your hand and give him your name in return. He rolled his eyes, reaching for the handle and swerving you. He pulled the door but you used your body weight to slam it shut with your back again. A loud slam and a creak of protest from its hinges.

“Where are you from, Joel?” 

“Is this a game to you, girl?” Joel growled. 

“Yes.” The smile you had was sly. Foxy. A  single finger ran down his chest and dared to slip just under his shirt’s collar. “I like games.”

“You don't wanna do that.” He warned, dark eyes burning you up inside from your very core. It was the look of a man’s lust that had been left untouched, unloved for quite some time now. It strained at his morality. But who were you to give up the warning and keen hand of a man who so desperately needed a release to the coiling tension of his shoulders. You saw it. Felt it in the rhythmic yet chaotic hammer of his heart against his ribs. As if it were trying with all its might not to break his own bones clean in two and lurch from its enclosure of flesh and bone. 

“And why not?” This was a devils game of chess. Careful calculated words from loose tongues and taking each other's moves in as you exhaled a counter. And oy had him three moves from checkmate. His king weak in defence, your advances stronger  by each word that fell into his eras from your red painted, enticing lips. He could feel his limbs being string up for you to pull at like a puppeteer in an advanced level of her craft. But he was no kind man. His words were even less forgiving than his disposition. 

“Because I aint a kind man. Haven't been for a long while. And I know types of things a man like me would wanna do to a pretty girl like you.” 

“I doubt it would be anything new.” You cooed, watching your finger as it traced a line lower over his buttons,  stopping at the top of his belt buckle and just shy of teasing at the growing bulge in his trousers. 

The tension between you was thicker than molasses. And it seeped through the cracks of his better judgement to the part of him that hungered for touch. That was ravenous for a single one of your fingers. 

“I don't think Johnny would like that.” 

“And I didnt like the way he spoke to me earlier.” You pouted. The way a child would when dined a sweet treat before dinnertime. 

“That aint a good reason to start an affair with me. Because when i get my grubby hands on ya there ain't no going back, doll.” 

His words were enticing you more. To have a man obsessing over your body. Your curves. Your voice singing his name as he fucked you dirtier than anyone into anything. Joel was that man now. He knew it in the very marrow of your bones that you were trouble. His new little minx. So it was no surprise when his lips crushed yours under the full weight of his sexual frustration. 

It was needy. Heated. A clashing of tongues and teeth as he pressed you with his entire simmering being into the wood of the door. His bulge grinding desperately into your thich that parted his legs. 

His tongue swiped your lower lip before drawing it back between his teeth for him to suckle on until it tingled deliciously. He was jealous with his touches. Groping your hips as the sating of your dress that crumpled to the floor. It revealed sweet sweet skin. Skin Joel wasted no time in delving in for the first damning lick. A pleasure to every sense. Sight, taste, touch, smell, sound. 

Heavy breaths were exhaled into the dewy skin of your clavicle, tongue languidly sliding over the high points of your collarbones and enclosing in a sharp suck over the skin just above your right breast. It sent a chorus of heavenly sinful, light and airy monas from your mouth and floated into his ears. His lips were chapped and weathered in contrast to the silk smooth of your skin. It was delightful. 

He went lower, got to his knees as he drank up the sense of a woman's skin for the first time in years. This was the taste of true damnation. He was past the opening of hell's gates and somehow found heaven in the parting of your thighs down the newly trodden path of your navel. 

He pressed his open mouth to your clothed cunt, tasted the seeping slick you gave him on his tongue and gluttonously inhaled your musk right at the apex of your thighs. Your fingers tangled into the curls of his messy, wind wrecked hair. Keening your hips up to press into the curve of his aquiline nose, and riding the burning in the pit of your belly starting to grow. Your head fell back against the door. Your mouth unhinged and letting out moan after sigh after mewl of his name. His face buried between the meat of your thighs as his hands gripped your asscheeks and spread them so he could push his face deeper between your folds. Your underwear drenched and ruined from your wetness and his spit while he tongued your hole through the flimsy lace. 

You pulled him back, smirked at the wreck he was with his lips sticky and shiny in the light of your dressing room. To then pull him up to your lips so you could curl your tongue into his mouth and taste yourself on him. It’s where the taste belonged. Among notes of whiskey and chewing tobacco and drugstore gum. 

His large hands pawed at your hips once more, listing you so your legs could wrap obediently round his waist. That's how it worked now. He wanted, you gave. And willingly like the sounds that fell into his motu like sweet, freshly harvested honey. Ut had the feel of money. Powerful and green like spring leaves. But with the warning of rotting when summer meets its tragic and fatal end. It was like trying to cross a canyon with a broken limb. Near impossible. The last sip of a drink that would ensure drunken and slurred movements. It took even the nest of a man his entirety to deny you, But deep down, Joel was a weak man. Strong in body, maybe mind too. But weak in soul. And he gave in with the cashing of your back against the vanity mirror. 

He had his faults. He knew that. And you did too. It had you wondering how a man like Joel loves. Did he change for his chosen lover? Or was he just as rough a callus as he was with everyone else. Would he destroy and ache and leave you wondering when your body would be at his whim next and how he would bend it to his will. Or would he let you lean into his embrace as he kissed down the column of your throat to the holy entitled epiphany between your thighs. The glisten of your hot cunt aching to be touched by anything. His everything. 

So you reached for his belt. So you undid it along with his buttons to touch his heated skin, To feel the blood flow beneath as the strain of each of his muscles. You ran a hand across his chest and he let his head fall back as a woman touched him for the first time as a man of war. A veteran.

He felt like he had been cast in gold by the sun for the first time in his life. Shed his skin for a new layer reserved just for you. As if he was thanking whatever resided up there for you. He was no believer in god, but, Jesus Christ, he was starting to believe in some form of higher power. You were proof that there was a blessing for him to steal away from the world. It was in your sound. Your taste. Your touch. It beckoned him the way your finger did, curling into the collar of his shirt to clash your lips with his and let. He had no autonomy over the moan that fell into his mouth where it festered at the back of his throat and was swallowed with a desperate and heady inhale. 

You trod roads into his skin with your touch. Ones he knew he would follow later that night in an erotomaniac’s pleasure. And you finally pulled his length free from his trousers. Your underwear was soon to follow and your slick aided the way he managed to sink so smoothly into your sopping heat. A squeeze he would commit to memory and savour like the taste of fresh and ripe fruit. Because you were. Fresh and youthful in age. Ready to be devoured to the core as a gleaning red apple would be. The very same one that even took in the garden of eden. Temptation. Fruit flesh to signify sin. 

He took his first bite out of you with a satisfying crunch. And keep devouring until there was nothing left but the remnants of your birth, ready to be resurrected, grown again in the form of a new tree. 

He stilled once he bottomed out, letting himself bask in the moment. The first time he was nestled deeply in the walls of your cunt. He heard your quiet whimpers for him to move. Felt the way your pert nipples brushed his sweat slicked skin. It was a ghost of a memory the last time he felt this. The heat of someone in the throes of intimacy. And it was all over him. It was the very air he wes starved of. The past was all paled in comparison because of the way your hips bucked pathetically to feel his thrust inside you. To get him going. No one had needed him this rawly, this undignifying before. 

A single hand clamped over your mouth, stilling your movements. He felt the tickle of your exhale against the pinky finger. 

“Stay still…” He commended with a swallowed down groan when you clenched around him, ironically repeating your words from earlier.

You looked at him. The glazed over, far away look in his eyes. His voice low and laden in a gravelly tone that came from the very back of his throat. You pulled him forward to lick it out again with your tongue when his hand fell to your throat. It gave a warning squeeze. And you once again canted your hips in protest. 

This time he moved. And it was like poetry as it hit that toe curling spot inside you. Made your eyes close in blissful ignorance of what this would do to you. YOu slick drooling from your cunt onto his shaft until it shined at his very base and dripped down his heavy balls. 

His hand squeezed your throat tighter. Had you yelling for him in a suppressed squeal. His other hand clamped around your mouth for you to moan into. Your words of praise lost on his ears, listened to by his palm instead. Every devil was fuelling this act of infidelity. This act of carnal sin you both needed. Ut unwound your bones, but had the coil in your belly cramping with each swift buck of his hips. 

You met his swift thrusts in a desperate attempt to be of use to him. Finding it hard to breathe, yet alone Your cunt spasmed delectably. Searching for a new feeling. A feeling primal and dirty as the streets of Boston. Your eyes rolled back in your head as your legs trembled while he went on, giving you something you would remember from this day forward, A sentence of being binded to him.

You were in the arms of the devil himself. St his ,ercy. Nsd nothing felt more thrilling than the pleasure that rolled at a landslide's power and pace down your spine into your core. 

Another squeeze round your throat. Another unhinged moan into his hand. He snarled, baring his teeth at you before pressing his face into the crook of your neck and biting down. Your eyes closed and painted a picture of stars. You were close to seeing angels by now and the deep ache of pleasure grappled your flesh and had goosebumps flicking up to attention over your flesh.

His chest heaved with each curl of his hips. Your exhales heavier by the second while you moaned his name like a mantra to his hand. His teeth imprinted on your back like a randhishing. A mark of the sin that was witnessed by the two of you that day. Your voice was shrill. A repeated ‘Joel! Joel! Joel!’

“Fuck, yeah, sing f’me doll. Sing f’me. Let em know who’s doin’ this to you.” He panted in vain. “Tell me.” “Feels so good–”

“Again.” He demanded. 

“Feels so good! Too good!” 

And it was. He had you burning white hot at the end of an illicit teather. You gripped his back with talons of hellbirds. Clawing at his shirt clad back. The wings of hi shoulderbales. The snake length of his spine. 

“That’s it. Tell ‘em. Tell me! Tell me in making you feel fuckin’ good.” 

“You are. Harder Joel.” His pace was like poetry. Ripped you in tow and had you displayed to him. One knee was hooked over his hunched shoulder, spine curled as his forehead pressed to yours. `The new angle had you singing like a songbird. High and melodic in tune.  Your kitten heel slipping off and clattering to the floor without a second thought. The head of his cock nipped your cervix. The lewd wet sounds of your pussy smothering him in your slick and your shared moans filled the room. Everything of you was his now. You couldn't even think of giving this up to Johnny. Yes, he fucked you dirty. But Joel fucked you like it was his sole purppose of living. Like it was what gave him life. 

You fell. You fell as soon as you hit your climax with a mewling moan that ended Joel right there and then. Coming together with heavy breaths and shaking, trembling chests. His release inside of you, strings of his come smearing you in him. Marking you for later. Well and truly ruined for any other warm body that dared to slip into your sheets. 

But falling was not the problem. Only when you hit the ground is what causes all the grief. And the look you shared once the gold haze of afterglow faded was what confirmed this. 

What have you done? How would you live without this?

[aokuro-san]

Recommending fanfics (III): In progress or incomplete.

It's been 84 years or something like that… But today I woke up wanting to recommend fanfics, so I continue with this small collection that started with:

Complete fanfics: https://www.tumblr.com/aokuro-san/714582391192272896/recommending-fanfics-i-complete-fanfics?source=share

and continued with

One-shots: https://www.tumblr.com/aokuro-san/723176474909327360/recommending-fanfics-ii-one-shots?source=share

And before continuing,

I want to remind you that… In general I like to read fanfics x reader (or with inclusion of reader) because I enjoy imagining that I'm inside the story, however, you'll see that there are some that I didn't take that way and I still love them.

I hope you like it!

Part 3: In progress or incomplete.

shiratorizawa antics, by mooshys

(Haikyuu!!) AO3

I said it at the time and I'll say it again: SHIRATORIZAWA is my favorite Haikyuu!! team, and this was one of the stories I was most eager to recommend; not only because it was one of the most elaborate ones I read on the subject, but because it's a great slice of life that's worth reading, even if it's not finished, that deals -again- with the experiences of the fictional Shiratorizawa manager with the peculiar members of this team. In general, stories full of light humor, but that can also deal with more human/adolescent themes such as fear of the future and what we will be in it.

Anyway. A little gem that I always come back to and that can even be read as if it were an anthology related to each other (I think?).

26/28 (at first, because the author always changes the final number of chapters, haha).

Belligerence, by SecretPuddin

(Jujutsu Kaisen) AO3

Apparently, while I was "away", this fanfic increased its number of chapters and seems to be about to end. But, since it is not yet, I will take advantage of it and recommend it to you here (in fact, I just noticed that the last publication date was in 2023, but, well, that should not discourage anyone either). Because, like everything I recommend to you, in general and in my eyes, it is more than worth it!

In this case, the story is presented as a story of love, violence and family found between the reader (male, in this case), a lover of fighting with good feelings (typical shonen protagonist, but with hidden depths and a traumatic past as the plot progresses) and the unfortunate Junpei Yoshino, while the parents of both have their own romance in the middle; which, inevitably, complicates and uncomplicates things at the same time.

It is… BRUTAL. I mean, when you start reading this story, you certainly don't know how much it will impact you and how well the author will treat the themes and her characters (within the context she offers us). Especially Junpei, who always seemed like an interesting character to me and…, for those who were left with a bitter taste with his ending in the original story, this fanfic could be the answer!

However, keep in mind that it deals with topics, perhaps taboo, perhaps controversial, perhaps tricky, depending on the reader's sensitivity (which is excessively high lately xD) and there is some sexual scene involved (especially when the healthy relationship between the reader and Junpei inevitably turns into these areas), so, unlike me at the time, I would tell you to read the story tags to get an idea of ​​what you will read… or not.

21/24 (again, for now).

Vivisection, by death13

(Blue Lock) AO3

Ok, maybe I'm taking a risk here, but it won me over after just one chapter and I think it deserves to be included in this post. Also because it's rare to find fanfics that include or are, directly, horror (my favorite genre) and that, in addition, start in such a potential way as this one (that it catches your attention and is good, let's say).

The plot introduces us to the new manager of her high school's football team, where weirdos seem to abound, and the tension and bad vibes (or feelings) are present almost at all times! Even if you can't pinpoint exactly what's wrong, you know something's wrong, the protagonist's friend knows something's wrong (and her last sentence is quite revealing (although also prejudiced)… And this is just the first step of what seems to be one of the best horror fanfics that could be born around here. Well, as I said, I can't say much because only the first chapter is available… But I think it was worth including it for the reasons already mentioned.

1/15 (in principle! The truth is that it's the one I hope continues the most of all, haha).

PS: I don't know why the suggestiveness of certain Shirley Jackson stories, mixed with the typical j-horror, came to my mind… So, there you have it! If you like both things, I think you'll appreciate it even more.

Well, look, for now we'll leave it like that. I know that there are fewer fanfics than the ones I usually recommend… But, in general, most of the stories I read are usually complete, so I didn't have much material, although, it's true that I have more unfinished stories out there. However, right now it seems risky to recommend them, since, when I go over them, they don't seem as good to me anymore or I feel that, despite the good story, the protagonist is somewhat weak compared to these three here (even within their simplicity). So we'll be content with these three (the best of the best, haha, and what will be easier for you to find).

Well, I'll see you later (if I feel like it and I'm not busy with my own work, lol)! 😇

[mint-yooxgi]

{7} - Paradise Gardens - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Book Two to Hotel California

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humour

Pairing: Ateez X Reader

Words: 8,120

Warnings: Anxiety and PTSD, mental illness, and inferred depression. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Emotional turmoil is always a fun thing haha but I promise there is light at the end of the tunnel! Next chapter should be a bit longer hopefully, so I hope you'll excuse these shorter ones for now. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Also, gentle reminder that I don’t do tag lists.

Mini Masterlist - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six

Falling.

The harsh whipping of wind against your skin is all you can hear as you tumble towards the earth. Each breath is a struggle as you attempt to fill your burning lungs with air, the pressure of such an altitude detrimental to your every move. Your chest aches, throat scraped raw with the shrill shrieks of terror that escape you as you tumble through the sky. Tears leak from your eyes uncontrollably, lids squeezing shut in tandem as you can barely get a grip on your surroundings.

Everywhere, all you can feel is pain.

Free falling has always been described to you as a feeling of utter weightlessness, but there isn’t a cell in your body that you cannot feel. All of which are heavily screaming at you in terror. 

Never have you been able to feel the full weight of your heart as you do right now, every twitch of your fingers sending jolts of unpleasant electricity racing up your arms. The cold of your body slicing through the air is unlike any sensation you’ve felt before, and with every foot lost, you gain momentum.

Is this how it all ends? After nearly killing a man that you love, having him admit your worst fear for the moment that you are to blame, and having your heart nearly burst from your chest at the sheer pressure of its pulse, you will land upon the earth like a falling star?

Your skin begins to heat, replacing the utter cold you had been feeling only moments before.

You don’t want to die. Not like this. Not now.

You got yourself into this mess, you can certainly get yourself out of it. Though, you have no idea how far the ground is from you. You could make impact at any second, and you count yourself lucky that you’ve lasted this long already.

Concentrating hard, you focus in on your room back home. Perhaps you can simply transport yourself onto your bed, and forget that this ever happened for a little while. Hopefully, you won’t be disturbed, either. None of them will probably want to see you, anyways. Not after what you’ve done to their brother. 

Yet, no one will be able to blame you as much as you blame yourself. The guilt begins to eat you alive, mind darkening into that familiar negative territory the longer you allow your thoughts to go unchecked.

A sob tears from your throat.

Faintly, you feel several worried brushes against your void. Three are much more urgent and firmer than the others, constantly keeping pressed up against you as their strings all hum furiously with movement.

What would happen should you choose to open your mind to them? Would they forgive you? Would they figure out what’s going on and leave you to suffer? 

No. You know that they wouldn’t. They could never.

But then, how long would it take for them to find you?

Too many thoughts continue to race through your mind, clouding your better judgment and drowning you in self-doubt. Your emotions are all over the place, but the constant ache in your chest reminds you of the harsh reality that has just occurred. Honestly, you just wish you could numb the pain.

How much time do you have left? You seem to be falling for quite a while. Perhaps you started from a higher altitude than you had originally realized. Jongho’s blood is still running through your veins, after all.

Again, several frantic brushes against your void are felt, much more urgent than the first.

Fear grips you once more as you attempt to crack an eye open. You can barely see through your blurred vision, the wind whipping passed you and stinging you all over. All you can recognize is mountains, and a large lake that seems to be getting closer and closer with each passing second.

Another scream of absolute horror rips passed your lips. You feel as if your heart is about to burst from the intensity of its beating within your chest. The ground below gets closer and closer, and your mind scrambles with what to do.

Only one thought begins to get clearer and clearer: you need help.

A glint of gold flashes out of the corner of your eye, and your whole body shakes as a tremendous roar pierces through the air. A presence begins to fall alongside you, large and ominous, but you do not feel threatened. No. Instead, you are relieved; comforted in an unfamiliar way as a faint glow begins to emanate from your brow.

Suddenly, it’s as if the whole world stops.

No longer feeling the intense harshness of the wind as it whips passed you, you crack open your eyes.

A level view of the surrounding mountains greets your gaze, and it is then that you realize that you are gliding through the air. Your hands grip onto something solid beneath you, and when you look down, you see scales beneath your fingertips.

Not just any scales. 

Dragon scales.

The dragon is unlike any that you have seen before, the sheer size of it spanning at least fifty metres in length. The scales are a matte black, gold weaving throughout the cracks between and glinting beneath the light of the moon. Spikes line the crown of her head, golden veins lining the horns which protrude from her skin. Seamlessly, she blends into the night surrounding her, nothing more than a dark blur against the clouds.

You don’t have to meet her gaze to know that it’s a deep gold.

A second later, and a dark blue dragon circles around the larger one’s back, followed by a green amphiptere who’s tail flicks worriedly behind her. Both shift to fly closer to you, situating themselves above the large dragon you rest upon and flanking you on either side.

Silent tears continue to stream down your face the entire flight back to the dragon’s nest. Luckily, it seems as if you’ve managed to teleport yourself quite close by. 

Fifteen minutes later, and that little cliff face is in sight, an albino wyrm slithering restlessly back and forth.

Mon is the first to offer you help down from the large dragon’s back, sliding up beside you and allowing you to grip onto him as you climb down. Both Xiron and Yerra hover close by, offering their assistance in any way that they can.

A blink, and Wyno is standing before you.

You don’t even have a chance to say anything before both of her hands are coming up to cup your face tenderly. Nothing but concern can be seen in her golden eyes as she searches your gaze.

“My Child,” her voice is low, steady as she searches your bloodstained face. “What happened?”

Several frantic brushes are felt against your void, each male trying desperately to reach out to you. You know they’re probably worried out of their minds right now, but the feeling only makes you feel worse.

For the third time that day, you break down.

Immediately, Wyno wraps you in her arms, your whole body collapsing into her hold. Sobs wrack your entire form, tears streaming seemingly endlessly from your eyes as your grip tightens around her. Gently, she strokes your back, cooing comforting words into your ear as she begins to calm you down. 

You can faintly hear worried whines coming from the three young dragons surrounding you. Soft coos of their own escape them as you feel them tenderly nudge their heads against your lower back and legs. A reassurance that they’re all here.

“Shh,” Wyno brings a hand up to cradle the back of your head. “My Child, let it all out. I’m right here; you are not alone.”

You sob harder.

“Whenever you’re ready, My Child, know that I will listen to whatever it is you have to tell me.” She assures you.

Your void rumbles. Urgently, each male attempts to reach out to you, desperate for an answer.

Faintly, you brush back.

The instant you finish brushing against their strings, their attempts to contact you strengthen tenfold. 

You nearly stumble on your feet, legs threatening to give out at any moment. The constant feeling of them pressing against your mind only makes your mood drop further, your throat tightening as your emotions consume you.

“I can’t-“ you shake your head, whole body trembling in her embrace. “I can’t-“

“Let’s get you inside,” Wyno keeps her voice steady, wrapping her arm around your waist carefully for support as she begins to guide you towards the cave.

A minute later, and she’s sat you down in a small wicker chair. Another, and a steaming cup of tea is handed to you, the three young dragons surrounding you on either side. A cloth rests in her hands as she dabs the damp material against your skin, cleaning the now long since dried blood from your features.

Slowly, you manage to get your breathing under control, thanking Wyno lightly. She sends you a small, tense smile back. Once she’s finished cleaning you up and attending your wounds, she pulls a silk robe around her shoulders. Then, she’s sitting across from you.

“Do they at least know where you are?” Calm are her words, gentle in her inquiry.

You shake your head, taking a light sip of your tea.

“Do you want them to know where you are?”

A brief pause where you consider her question. 

A blink, and you’re shaking your head yet again. 

“At least-” your voice comes out raw and strained. You clear your throat. “At least not for now.”

“I do not know what happened, My Child, but do not underestimate the lengths they will go to find you.” She addresses you cautiously. “They would tear the whole world apart looking for you.”

Your gaze drops, a sadness taking over your features.

“Do they at least know that you’re safe?”

“I-“ you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut as your head begins to pound beneath their constant bombardment. “I don’t know.”

Wyno inhales a deep breath before making a clicking sound twice through her teeth.

A blink, and Stella appears hovering in the air between the two of you.

Softly, the raven coos at you, circling lightly around your head as she sees the state of distress you seem to be in.

More clicks can be heard from Wyno, Stella landing on your shoulder and standing at attention. You swear you almost see the raven nodding in understanding.

“Do you have anything on you that Stella can bring to them to let them know you’re alright?” Wyno turns her golden gaze to you.

“Uh,” you swallow lightly, blinking all the while. “Yeah.” You clear your throat. “Yes.”

Moving your hands to the back of your neck, you unclasp the necklace you always wear. The chain hangs precariously from your hand, the replica of Arwen’s Evenstar dangling like a gem in the somewhat dim light of the cave.

“I have told Stella not to let them know where you are until you are ready to see them, but they are stubborn.” Wyno informs you. “They might demand she tell them. They may search her mind, or force it out of her with their powers. Either way, she will stay with them until the task is complete, and I summon her again.”

You nod your understanding, watching as Stella gently clasps your necklace in her beak by the chain. Another soft coo is heard from her.

“She wishes you well,” Wyno hums, somewhat approvingly. “Also, that she’ll peck out the eyes of whoever hurt you.”

You manage a small chuckle at that. 

“Thank you, Stella.” Your lips pull upwards weakly in the corners. “But I did this to myself.”

A concerned caw greets your ears.

“Hurry, Stella,” Wyno inclines her head. “Before they start tearing the realms apart.”

In the blink of an eye, the raven has disappeared from sight.

Your gaze falls to the cup in your hands, thumb tracing the side of the ceramic gently. Your shoulders curl in on yourself, but at least you immediately begin to feel some relief from their constant brushing against your void. Still, you recognize those same three strings - one royal blue, one lavender, and one yellow - all humming faintly in worry, even more so than the others.

“Now,” Wyno draws your attention back to her once more as she sits forward in her seat. “What is it that you believe you’ve done that warranted you crashing to the earth like an astroid of old?”

Your whole body stills, and you swear you forget to breathe. Finally, that feeling of numbness you had so desperately been hoping for begins to spread throughout your body. It starts in your chest, creeping outwards as you continue to stare down at the cup of tea held desperately in your hands.

Your lips part, only to close shortly after. No words escape you despite the fact that it all wants to come spilling out. You don’t want to burden Wyno with your problems. Problems of which you hadn’t realized had still been bothering you until today.

“Speak, My Child.” She keeps her tone steady, but still tender all the same. “It is best not to allow these thoughts to fester, lest they continue to consume you. I promise that I will listen, and provide my best insight should you desire it.”

Mon soon slithers beneath the legs of the chair, resting his head by your feet and nudging you in comfort. Xiron comes to sit on one side of you, while Yerra takes the other. Faintly, you register the feeling of a wing wrapping around your back in comfort. Turning your head, you see a translucent blue hue shining beneath the light of the cave. You smile weakly.

“I-“ Again, your voice catches in your throat. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Begin wherever you deem it necessary for me to understand.” She smiles assuringly at you, a hand reaching over to squeeze your knee.

Softly, you nod your head. Taking a deep breath in, you begin.

You do not start at the very beginning, no, but you go far enough back where you deem all of these current issues started. 

Naturally, you begin with Miyeon’s torture. You explain to Wyno every minute detail of that day that demon appeared in their domain. Nothing is spared, and you divulge to her the hurt you had undergone. The hurt you’re still suffering from because of her. Facts of which even the males have never been privy to, lest they recall the state your body had been in when they arrived back home.

The way you can see her jaw clench, claws sharpening into points as she curls her hands into fists on her lap has you shifting in your spot. Low, threatening growls escape her with each exhale, her fangs on full display as her lips curl back over her teeth.

Luckily, none of the males seem to appear at any point. Looks like Stella is keeping them away for the time being. A fact which helps your shoulders to relax, even unknowingly, the longer that they stay away.

Quietly, Wyno takes your one hand in hers, listening to everything you have to tell her. She is able to calm herself enough to allow you to continue, patiently sitting beside you the whole time and offering you comforts in her own way. You don’t seem to realize, but when you are explaining what happened three days after the events of Miyeon, your whole visage begins to glow softly.

Recovery is a tricky path to navigate, but even she can tell that those eight males have helped you in more ways than you realize. You spoke true two days ago, and you understand that. Even if your state of mind seems to be battling your logic and reason for the moment.

Sometime during your recount, you manage to finish your cup of tea. You place the empty cup down, only for Yerra to gently rest her head in your lap. The young dragon nuzzles into you affectionately, nothing but worry shining within her eyes. Though, she cannot help the way they flutter shut once you begin to stroke your free hand over the top of her scales.

The more you speak, the more you seem to relax. The words flow from you like a steady stream, cleansing your soul with each second that passes. The fact that Wyno simply just listens is more than you could have ever hoped for right now, and you’re grateful she’s letting you get it all out.

When you finish your recount of the harpy meeting, Wyno finally allows herself to let out a snort.

“You certainly did put that chicken in her place, My Child.” She grins, noticing how your lips quirk faintly. “Only a true Queen could do that.”

You can feel your cheeks heat, thanking her lowly before continuing.

Finally, you begin to breach the events of the last twelve hours. Of course, you remain vague about all of the explicit details, but from the knowing look in Wyno’s gaze, you can tell that she’s long since figured that out.

“Yes, I had assumed something of the sort,” Wyno nods, recognizing how you begin to slow down in your retelling as the most recent memories begin to consume you. “I can smell him all over you.”

A grimace crosses your features as your fingers begin to subtly press a little firmer into Yerra’s head. She appears to be sleeping, eyes closed as her chest rises and falls evenly while resting in your lap.

“You consumed his blood.” Not a question, but an observation.

“And he consumed mine.” You confirm.

“Which explains how we found you tumbling through the air earlier.” Wyno nods.

Your brow furrows. “I did that?”

“My child, who else could it have been?” She chuckles. “You have already divulged that the eldest’s blood allows you to glance spirit souls. Is it not so farfetched to believe that the youngest’s could allow you to teleport?”

“No.” You rub the tips of your fingers together gently over the skin of your thumb, mocking the way they would trace over your therapy pebble. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Now, tell me what warranted all of this.” She squeezes your other hand reassuringly.

You take a shaky breath in, averting your gaze in shame as you confess to everything that has just happened to you.

The whole time, Wyno remains quiet. Her golden eyes scan your face carefully, noting every small twitch of your brow and downturn of your lips. She can hear the pain you fight through with each word. The guilt, self-doubt, and remorse you hold onto comes through loud and clear.

Your gaze is haunted, and a chill runs down your spine. There are tears in your eyes as you admit to what Jongho said right before you disappeared, whole body trembling as you succumb to your emotions once more.

Faintly, you register Mon slither out from beneath the chair.

“My Child, please look at me,” Wyno’s voice is gentle as she shifts forward on her chair to get closer to you.

You raise your head, whole body nearly jolting as you feel something being placed carefully onto your shoulders

“Do you truly believe those were all of the words that he wanted to say?” Wyno reaches forward to help Mon wrap your jacket around your upper body.

Your whole body deflates. “I don’t know.”

“After the evening you have just told me the two of you had shared, do you truly believe that he would blame you for this?” Wyno attempts to reason with you, hands rubbing over your arms lightly in comfort.

“How could he not? It’s all my fault.” You choke on a sob.

“Tell me, My Child,” she manages to get you to meet her gaze and you notice her eyes flash, “do you blame them for what happened with that one?”

You blink, caught off guard by her sudden question. “Of course not! I could never-“

“Do you not think that they do not blame themselves for everything she has done, and all that she continues to do to you?” Wyno continues to reason.

“But it’s not their fault! I-” Your voice catches in your throat.

Wyno quirks a brow, looking at you expectantly. You fall silent.

“We act in ways we deem appropriate at the time in which these incidents occur. It is not your fault you were deceived; you do not control the actions of others.” She holds you firmly in her grip, squeezing your arms reassuringly. “You do not think I cannot still see the guilt that clings to them for ever allowing you to reach such a broken state at another’s hands?”

You remain quiet.

“You nine are all more alike than you think.” She hums. “Yes, you probably could have taken a moment to think things through, but when someone you love is at stake, logic is not always your friend.”

“Jongho still got hurt because of me.” You reply lowly, eyebrows drooping as you stare at the ground.

“You said he jumped in front of you. Not once, but twice, correct?” She tilts her head knowingly.

You nod your head.

“Then, that was his choice.” She shifts her hands to hold your own in her grasp once more. “He could have let you been hit both times, but he chose to save you. I have known him far longer than you, My Child, and were he feeling truly petty, he would have let both those weapons meet their marks. Do not twist his efforts to protect and help you into something that they are not. I have seen the way he looks at you. How his aura shines alongside your own. Do not make the man you love into a heartless monster. Least of all towards you.”

Tears begin to gather in the corner of your eyes for the nth time that morning, and you do whatever you can to blink them away.

The sun begins to rise over the horizon.

“Just because you blame yourself, does not mean that they will.” Wyno is a bit blunt when she says this, but you know it’s all spoken with good intent. “You made a mistake, and it seems as if this was the final piece which shattered the glass you had been looking through to keep yourself sane.”

“My Child, you are trying so hard to be brave, and strong when you haven’t allowed yourself proper time to grieve who you once were. Whether any of you wish to acknowledge it or not, that woman did kill a part of you that day. You may not have ceased to breathe, but she certainly destroyed a portion of who you once were. A portion you may never get to reclaim, nor should you want to.”

Wyno takes a moment to pause, inhaling deeply before she continues.

“I did not lie when I said that you have become stronger because of what has happened. Everything in your life leading up to this moment in time has made you who you are. As much as you wish to believe that you are passed this trauma, it will live with you every day until this whole rebellion is complete.” She states. “Whether it will end in victory or death, that has still yet to be determined. Do not create more issues where none lay.”

Your hands begin to shake, the numbness that had been felt throughout your entire body receding.

“But this is an issue, Wyno!” You practically spring to your feet, barely registering the huff of surprise Yerra lets out as she just catches her head from hitting the floor. “I indirectly hurt their brother. I nearly caused the death of a man I love because I let fear control me. How could they even bear to look at me now after what I’ve done? This incident has only just solidified that I’m barely holding myself together. I can put up a brave front, and act like I’m fine, but I’m not! I’m no Queen, and I need to stop pretending to be one.”

Wyno takes a moment to observe you carefully, golden eyes trailing over your figure as she watches you tremble in your spot. Your admission seems to have surprised even you, your eyes wide as your chest heaves.

“What is it you are truly afraid of, My Child?” She stands to her own two feet slowly.

At the way you remain silent, she’s quick to continue.

“Do you truly believe that they could hate you for this? For anything, for that matter?” She takes a step closer, staring you down all the while. “Do you believe they would turn on you for worrying about your family in the same ways that they worry about you? You have already confided in me that they've told you that they do not blame you for this. Is it not within yourself to believe them? Have they ever lied to you, least of all when your own feelings are concerned?”

Your hands cling desperately to the edges of your jacket, tears beginning to stream down your face as you watch her approach. Faintly, you register Mon brushing up against you back and holding you steady.

“Even now, I would bet all of the jewels in all of the realms that they are continuing to reach out to you in that mind of yours to know that you’re safe.” She says. “To know that you are still alive and breathing.”

Sure enough, you feel the faint brushes of assurance from all seven of them as soon as she says this. All several of their strings continue to hum in worry.

“Do you know how difficult it is to convince that Captain of theirs to change his mind when he sets his own course of action?” Wyno comes to stand before you now, placing her hands onto your arms reassuringly. “None of them have the ability to be patient when your safety is at risk, let alone your own personal wellbeing. I would bet anything that they wanted to appear here instantly after pulling the information out of Stella using any means necessary. However, they held off. For you, because that is what you asked of them.”

Your breath hitches slightly in your throat.

“Your Eight Kings do not particularly enjoy taking orders, or listening to others who attempt to command or control them.” Her tone is firm as you meet her gaze. “However, they will always listen to you.”

A blink, and you’re swallow thickly.

“No, My Child. There is no need for you to pretend to be their Queen,” she wipes your tears away so gently as she cradles your face in her hands. “You already are.”

You lower lip wobbles and she pulls you back into her embrace. One of her hands supports the back of your head while the other strokes comfortingly over your spine. Again, you bury your face into the side of her neck.

“Whether you know it or not, whether you acknowledge it or not, they have always viewed you as their Queen.” She whispers lowly into your ear.

A shudder wracks your chest as you attempt to catch your breath.

“Let me ask you this, My Child,” she tilts her head so that it rests against your own. “If the roles had been reversed, would you not have done the same? Would you not have given anything to protect him in the moment, if you had been able to?”

“Without question.” You breathe, tightening your hold subconsciously around Wyno’s back.

“This is not the first time you have experienced each other being injured in front of your very eyes.” Wyno says, and your mind flashes to the very first time you had ever met the dragons. “I’m sure it will not be the last.”

You let out a shaky chuckle. “No, I’m sure it won’t.”

“Then, cease this pointless self-blame you seem to be so adamant to condemn upon yourself.” She pulls away to stare deeply into your eyes. “Acknowledge your emotions and allow your mind to rest. It does no good to dwell on the things we cannot change. I’m sure those Kings of yours would tell you the exact same.”

The corner of your lips quirks slightly. “I tell them that all the time.”

Wyno shoots you a playfully incredulous look. “Well, there you go, My Child. Afford yourself the same leniency.”

Darting your gaze to the floor, you let out a small sigh. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Suppose?” Wyno chuckles. “My Child, I am always right.”

A playful wink is sent your way, and you cannot help the soft puff of laughter that escapes you.

“Now, go get some rest.” She motions for you to follow Mon who brushes his head against your back again in comfort. “You must be exhausted.”

A nod is all that you can muster in response as you allow yourself to finally relax. A wave of intense fatigue washes over you, body instantly slouching as you turn to face Mon. Slowly, you trudge after him down a side path leading deeper into the cave, eyes blinking tiredly as Wyno’s words echo through your mind.

She’s right. Your emotions were high, and you overreacted. You didn’t even give them a chance to calm you down before you unknowingly transported yourself away. Still, it doesn’t make what Jongho said in the moment hurt any less, even if that might not have been what he meant.

Perhaps this is exactly how Seonghwa felt all those months ago when he royally screwed up. He did look the most concerned out of all of them, a sad understanding on his features as you practically clawed at your own face in worry.

Speaking of, you’re pretty sure you’re body is still covered in blood despite Wyno cleaning your face. Only, you cannot find the energy to care right now. Not when Mon seems to lead you to the nesting area, nudging you towards what you assume is his own bed.

With the help of Mon, you’re laying down, allowing the wyrm to settle close to you for warmth as he wraps himself protectively around you. Softly, he coos to you, and without another word, you allow the gentle rumbling of his chest to lull you to sleep.

Meanwhile, Wyno heaves a tremendous sigh as she paces back and forth just inside of the cave’s mouth. Boris’ eyes track her every movement, his head resting on the ground as he looks up at her. Repeatedly, she taps her fingers over the skin of her crossed arms, golden gaze glinting in the dark semi-dark of the cave.

For twenty long minutes, Wyno allows you to rest with the babies in the nests’ deep chamber. Long enough to sort out her own thoughts before summoning those Kings of yours here.

Making her way outside of the cave with Boris in tow, Wyno looks out upon the cliff face. Briefly, her eyes dart over to the spot where Xiron had been pinned down by an arrow, your body hunched over him for protection.

She takes a deep breath.

The second Wyno clicks her teeth to alert Stella of her request, they all appear before her. Frantic looks of concern are clear on Wooyoung’s, San’s, and Mingi’s faces, and even Yeosang is having a difficult time maintaining his composure. Seonghwa’s hands twitch, while Yunho’s gaze darts every which way in search of you.

The longer all of them go without seeing you only increases their worry tenfold. Of course, it doesn’t help that they felt a shift in your internal workings of your mind just over twenty minutes ago.

“Where is she?” Hongjoong steps forward, a wild look of desperation on his features.

“Calm yourself.” Wyno commands, raising a hand to halt him in his tracks.

Hongjoong’s eyes flash, his nostrils flaring.

“You dare tell me to ‘calm myself’ when Our Queen has been missing for hours?” His voice is low, ominous as a hint of a growl coats his words.

“She has not gone missing. She’s been here with me this whole time.” Wyno replies cooly. “I thought Stella informed you that she was safe.”

A caw is heard from the raven as she flies over to perch on Wyno’s shoulder.

“She did.” Yunho responds, somewhat bluntly. His one hand is closed into a fist, your necklace clutched tightly in his grip.

“Please, Wyno,” Yeosang begins. “We’ve been worried sick.”

“I am well aware of your urgency.” Wyno’s eyes flash, noticing how both San and Wooyoung begin to pace restlessly before her.

“Then, why won’t you let us see her?” Wooyoung snaps, clear irritation on his face as he chews on his bottom lip.

“We’ve been waiting this whole time for a summoning.” Seonghwa adds, nothing but urgency in his tone. “Please, don’t keep us from her any longer.”

“I called you here because it is easier for you to come to me, than for me to go to you.” Wyno begins, keeping her voice even and breathing steady as Boris shifts beside her.

“Are you saying that you’ll deny us entry after everything?” Hongjoong’s lips pull back in a snarl. “She is Our Queen, not yours. She does not belong to you.”

“Neither does she belong to you.” Wyno retorts, quite pointedly. Already, her patience is wearing thin.

Several low, threatening growls sound from across from her.

“We aren’t afraid to tear that whole nest apart to get her back, Wyno.” Yeosang states, tilting his head pointedly as he narrows his gaze at her. “Friend, or not.”

“Each threat you speak does not make me confident in allowing you access into my home to retrieve your beloved.” Wyno stands tall, shoulders squared as she looks across at all of them. “If you would stop to listen for five seconds, you would have already been led inside by now.”

Again, Seonghwa’s fingers twitch, but they all choose to remain quiet.

“Before I grant you access, I need to know that my own words which I have spoken in reassurance to her are true.” Wyno says, eyes narrowing pointedly. “As much as I do know you, you can all be quite unpredictable when it comes to her.”

Several low warning growls reach her ears once more.

“So, she told you what happened.” It’s not quite a question that escapes Mingi’s lips, but the hesitance comes through all the same.

“I know that because of what happened, her mind was in such a fragile state, she condemned herself to fall upon the earth freely.”

A collective stillness passes over all of them as both San and Yunho inhale sharply. Immediately, tears are springing to Wooyoung’s, Seonghwa’s, and Yeosang’s eyes. Mingi’s whole body begins trembling, chest heaving with every breath.

“No…” Hongjoong falls to his knees.

“We were lucky the bond alerted us to her distress, even unknowingly.” Wyno continues. “Even now she is still riddled with a tremendous amount of self-doubt and guilt. My words can only help her so much. She needs you.”

“Then, why are we still standing outside?” Wooyoung grits his teeth, tears cutting tracks down his cheeks as he steps towards Wyno.

A warning rumble escapes Boris’ chest, and Wooyoung scowls, freezing in place.

“Do you want to know what her biggest fear out of all of this was?” Golden eyes observe them carefully, watching every subtle twitch of their brows.

“Wyno-“

A sharp look from the dragon stops Mingi’s words right in their tracks.

“She was terrified of you.”

Their hearts drop, and each male stills in their spot. Not even their chests move as they forget how to breathe, more tears falling freely down each of their faces.

“She was terrified of what you might do to her in retribution for harming Jongho.” Wyno infers. “She believed, despite it all, that you would hate her. That you would despise her, and curse her very existence for what she’s done.”

This time, it’s Seonghwa who falls to his knees. His hands brace himself on the ground, sobs wracking his entire body as he attempts to catch his breath. All he can think of is how badly he’s failed you yet again.

Yunho places a hand onto Yeosang’s shoulder, noticing how the younger male has gone eerily quiet. Were it not for the fact that Yunho can still hear Yeosang’s heart thundering inside of the shorter male’s chest, he would have thought that the younger had died as soon as those words had left Wyno’s lips.

Immediately, San wraps Wooyoung in his embrace, letting the younger male sob violently into his neck. Both of them begin shaking uncontrollably, clinging to each other for dear life.

Behind him, Hongjoong can hear Mingi cursing. Knowing the younger male, he’s probably pacing and ripping at his hair as tears fall freely from his eyes. However, all Hongjoong can do at the moment is stare forward, nothing but the crushing weight of devastation suffocating his heart and flooding his entire being with a numbness unlike ever before.

“But she didn’t harm him.” San’s voice trembles, and he feels Wooyoung squeeze him tighter.

“It wasn’t her fault.” Yeosang states, voice sounding much calmer than he is right now.

“We would never-“ Seonghwa chokes on a sob, “could never blame her for this.”

“There is next to nothing in this world, or in all of the realms that could make us hate her.” Yunho keeps his words low, even. “Let alone blame her.”

A firm nod from Wyno is all they receive in response.

“How could she ever think we could hate her?” Wooyoung’s breath stutters with his wails, that complete feeling of devastation choking him out just as it does with the others.

“I do not think she had been thinking clearly, given the events that had occurred throughout the night.” Wyno says. “You seven should be all too familiar with what the weight of crushing guilt can do to your reason. All rational thought ceases to exist.”

A hushed understanding passes over all of them as they nod solemnly.

“Please, Wyno,” Hongjoong finally lifts his gaze. “Please, take us to her.”

Never before has Wyno seen the man before her look so utterly broken. Yet, she knows. She just knows that this is all just fallout from that reckless and selfish demon who has haunted you since the eight of them all fell in love with you. Since they chose you to be their Queen.

Softly, Wyno nods her head.

“I will take you to her.” She voices gently. “However,” they all tense, “you need to all realize why I had to go about it this way.”

“Do you truly believe that we are capable of ever hurting her?” Mingi’s crestfallen expression says it all.

“No.” Wyno shakes her head lightly. “I do not.”

“Then, why-“

San’s inquiry gets cut off by the eldest’s shaky voice.

“You did this for her.”

Wyno’s golden gaze flits between all several of the males now turned towards her. Her expression says it all.

“Come.” She turns, guiding Boris back into the cave with her. “She’s currently sleeping.”

The walk through the cave is silent, save for the few sniffles that Wyno can hear coming from some of the males behind her. Luckily, they seem to manage to compose themselves just as they reach the nesting area.

Frowns tug at their features as they don’t immediately see you.

“Where…?” Hongjoong’s brow furrows, knowing that he and his brothers can just make out the faintest hints of your scent mixed in with the rest.

“There.” Wyno motions off to the side with her head.

Shifting their gazes to where Wyno has guided them to, they see both Yerra and Xiron curled up with each other. A wing from each dragon is spread out between them, as if covering something hidden beneath.

Slowly, the two babies retract their wings as they get closer, and the sight that greets them would normally be adorable given any other circumstance.

There you rest, curled up with your arms around Mon as you sleep soundly. The babies surround you on either side, keeping you warm as your jacket seems to have fallen off of your shoulders. Mon is more than happy to be held in your arms, and he continues to let out gentle coos as you sleep, reassuring you that they’re all here to protect you.

Unfortunately, it seems as if the slight shifting around you has woken you up.

Groggily, you blink around at your surroundings, your head lifting as you attempt to gather your bearings for the moment. With the help of Mon, you manage to sit, rubbing at your eyes all the while as he slithers around your back. The albino wyrm curls around you protectively as you hear several sharp inhales come from in front of you.

You freeze, but what you fail to see is how all of them take a hesitant step towards you.

A soft call of your name has you slowly lowering your hands, somewhat cautiously. You blink to clear your vision, and the instant you see them all standing in front of you, tears spring to your eyes once more.

Nothing but concern is on each of their features as they look at you, their hearts squeezing painfully as they hear your own begin to thunder inside of your chest.

Carefully, San takes a step forward, his hand raising to reach out to you. “Baby-“

“I’m sorry.” Your lower lip trembles, the first of your tears spilling onto your cheeks. Your voice is raw, all of the events finally catching up to you as you attempt to clear your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut, whole body beginning to shake. “I’m sorry.”

Arms wrap around you instantly, and you jump as you feel yourself being pulled into someone’s chest. Unknowingly, your one hand fists his shirt for dear life.

“Shh, My Divine.” Seonghwa soothes you, rocking you gently in his embrace as his hand strokes over the back of your head. “It’s okay.”

You sob harder, more apologies falling from your lips.

“It’s not your fault, Dearest.” Yeosang keeps his voice low so as not to startle you.

“We’re not mad at you.” Mingi is the next to speak. “We could never be mad at you for this.”

“Please, My Love, do not think that we are.” Hongjoong kneels beside you, reaching out to tenderly caress your back.

“If anything, we thought we were going to lose you.” Yunho breathes, a hint of fear clinging to the edges of his words.

Wooyoung collapses in front of you, grasping your hands in his desperately. “Please don’t run from us like that again. We would never forgive ourselves if something happened to you.”

“We could never hate you, Starlight.” Mingi whispers, stepping in closer.

“Please don’t be afraid of us.” San pleads, swallowing somewhat thickly. “We could never, never hurt you, Baby.”

With each male that speaks, you manage to calm down more and more. Apologies no longer fall from your lips, and your breathing is starting to even out. It seems as if you’re able to finally begin thinking clearly with all of them surrounding you like this.

Softly, you begin to nod your head and a collective sigh of relief if heard from all of them.

Wooyoung squeezes your hands, smiling at you faintly. “Please, don’t scare us like that again.”

“We were in a frenzy trying to find you until Stella showed up.” Mingi admits, running his hand through his hair which stands on end in every direction.

“Let’s get you home, My Love.” Hongjoong stands, helping you to your feet along with Seonghwa.

A catch in your breath as you are swooped up into the eldest’s arms.

“You should get some rest, My Divine.” He pulls you tighter against his chest, holding onto you securely as if you might disappear again at a moment’s notice.

All you can offer them is a small nod in response before you’re all turning to face Wyno once more.

“Thank you for watching over her.” Yunho tilts his head in acknowledgement towards the alpha of the dragons, clutching your necklace a little firmer in his hand.

“Always.” Wyno hums, a small upturn to her lips as she watches you rest in Seonghwa’s arms. It looks as if you’ve finally calmed down, for your head leans against his shoulder, your breathing evening out steadily. “I am more than happy to provide for one of our own.”

Exhaustion tugs at the edges of your consciousness, but you force yourself to stay awake. Just enough so that you can turn your head towards Wyno.

Softly, you incline your head in her direction, blinking at her gently as you mouth your gratitude. She mirrors your movements, a tender smile pulling at her features in understanding.

“Go home, My Child,” her voice is low, nothing but a sweet caress to your ears. “Allow yourself to rest.”

A small nod is all she receives in response before the eight of you are disappearing from sight.

The front foyer is quick to greet you after that. It appears to have been cleaned, everything back in its regular place, and no Jongho in sight.

Seonghwa goes to take a step towards your room before your voice is halting him right in his tracks.

“Please,” the call is weak, but they all still manage to hear, “I need to see him."

An understanding passes over all of them, and immediately, Seonghwa is stepping towards the youngest’s room with the others surrounding you both. Hongjoong is quick to push open the door, guiding the way inside as you all follow behind. Once beside Jongho’s bed, Seonghwa softly sits you on top of the covers.

Swallowing thickly, you take in the sight of a still unconscious Jongho. He looks so peaceful, sleeping soundly beneath the comfort of his sheets. His chest rises and falls evenly, and he doesn’t appear to be in any pain, but you still cannot prevent the way your heart twists in guilt seeing him like this.

You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, thumb stroking tenderly against his skin.

“He’ll be okay, Dearest.” Yeosang reassures you, moving to sit beside you on the bed.

“He just needs some rest,” Wooyoung affirms, a slight nod to his head.

“Just like you do, My Love.” Hongjoong places a comforting hand onto your shoulder.

“Are you injured?” Mingi finally voices his concerns, noting how all of his brothers turn to observe you carefully now.

You shake your head, voice rough as you speak, “Wyno healed me.”

“We’re sorry we couldn’t be the ones to take care of you this time.” Seonghwa averts his eyes in shame, and you notice how the others do as well.

Again, you shake your head. “That’s not on you. That’s on me.”

“Petal,” Yunho’s worried voice reaches your ears.

“It seems all we ever do is apologize to each other,” you say, somewhat lowly.

“It’s hard not to feel remorse when it concerns the one you love.” Hongjoong squeezes your shoulder gently, and you’re briefly reminded of that talk you had with him in the garden all those months ago. You place your hand atop his. “Come. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You look up at him, protests forming on your lips.

“You’ve had a long night, Dearest.” Yeosang reasons, helping you back to your feet. “You need to rest.”

“Besides, he’ll probably be all better by the time you wake up.” San assures you, a light smile pulling at his features.

A small weight is felt settling onto the skin of your upper chest, and you turn your head to see Yunho securing your necklace behind you.

“Thought you might want this back.” His voice rumbles out lowly, a faint upturn of his lips as he sees your fingers brush over the jewel hanging over your skin once more.

“Come on, Angel.” Wooyoung begins to lead you out of the room with Seonghwa. “We can talk about everything later. For now, let your mind rest. We promise we’ll take good care of you.”

You nod, allowing the comfort of Your Kings to surround you once more as you fully embrace the light of the morning sun shining through the windows. The night might have been dark, but you know. You just know that everything will be alright with them by your side. 

Jongho will be fine.